


THM ARI OF, 
EXTEMPORE SPEAKING 


M. BAUTAIN 











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of the 


University of California 
Los Angeles 


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THE ART OF 
EXTEMPORE SPEAKING 


BY 
M. BAUTAIN 


VICAR-GENERAL AND PROFESSOR 
AT THE SORBONNE 


New EpiTIon 


WITH FOREWORD BY 
ANDREW D. WHITE 


FourtH PrintTING 


Je.e aif 


NEW YORK 
McDEVITT-WILSON’S, INC. 
1921 


Copyright, 1915 
By McDEVITT-WILSON’S, Inc, 


SP 


— 
— 


YY. 


he PUBLISHER’S NOTE 


It was our privilege to sit at the feet of Dr. Andrew 
D. White, former president of Cornell University, min- 
ister to Russia and Germany and President of the first 
International Peace Conference at the Hague, and lis- 
ten to an effective address delivered to students on 
the subject of extemporaneous speaking. Dr. White 
earnestly urged all who were preparing for American 
life to study Abbé Bautain’s ‘‘ Art of Extempore Speak- 
ing.”’ 

Students lost no time in jotting down the name of 
the book. 

In an attempt to obtain the work we found it was out 
of print. It occurred to us that if so eminent a man as 
Dr. White, who had made public speaking a study, and 
who never lost an opportunity when in France of lis- 
tening to the eloquent Abbés, whose order required them 
to speak without notes, recommended so strongly Abbé 
Bautain’s book, a republication of the work would be 
good news to thousands of preachers, teachers, laymen 
and attorneys throughout the English speaking world. 

Upon making known our intention to Dr. White we 
received a communication from him which appears as 


the Foreword to this edition. 
Vv 





FOREWORD 


Cornell University, 
Ithaca, N. Y. 
October 12, 1915. 
McDevitt-Wilson’s, Inc., 
Publishers, ete., 
New York City. 
GENTLEMEN :— 

I am glad that you are to publish a new edition of the 
Abbé Bautain’s THE Art oF EXTEMPORE SPEAKING, 
for the reason that it is the best book on the subject 
that I have ever read, and that it is not a catch-penny 
publication, but a thoughtful work based on important 
experience by an eminent scholar who was one of the 
most eminent extemporaneous preachers of modern times 
in France. 

I have for years recommended it to the students at 
the State University of Michigan, at this and other uni- 
versities, and have regretted to find of late that it had 
disappeared from the market. 

I remain, 
Very truly yours, 





PREFACE 


Tue following work, by the eloquent M. Bautain, 
has no counterpart or rival in the English language, so 
prolific of treatises upon Rhetoric, and the separate 
portions of the arts of composition and delivery. All 
those parts of oratory, however necessary to public 
speaking, or conducive to success in its performance, yet 
leave comparatively aside the precise business of off- 
hand extemporizing. If we mistake not, the subject will 
be found to be handled with masterly ability by the au- 
thor of this volume, who, keeping his end ever in view, 
and exemplifying in the treatment of his matter that 
clarté—so distinctively French, and which Quintilian 
says is the first quality of style—subordinates every- 
thing to the one grand purpose of extemporization. 

The treatise not only supplies a desideratum in the 
literature of the language, but it ministers to a need pe- 
culiarly existing under our representative system of 
popular government. It is true, and felt to be so— 
that remark of an acute observer of American institu- 
tions and manners, that ‘‘In no country whatever is a 
genius for writing or speaking a more useful or com- 
manding endowment than in this.’’ To render the 
work more aptly suited to the precise requirements 
among ourselves, three chapters are added by the Amer- 
ican Editor, which it is hoped will serve to smooth the 
way for the unpracticed, or unassisted student of de- 
livery. Cicero says in his treatise De Oratore, ‘‘There 


is requisite to the orator the acuteness of the logician, 
ix 


x PREFACE 


the subtilty of the philosopher, the skillful harmony, 
almost, of the poet, the memory of a juriconsult, the 
tragedian’s voice, and the gesture of the most finished 
actors.’’ But he speaks of the highest, for he adds im- 
mediately that ‘‘nothing is more rare among men than 
a perfect orator.’’ The gradations, as in all arts, are 
infinite, but a certain degree is within the reach of most 
men, and many in their efforts to advance, will become 
indebted, consciously or unconsciously, to this admir- 
able little work of M. Bautain. 


CONTENTS 


PART: I 
CHAPTER I 
PAGE 
EXPOSITION OF THE SUBJECT—DEFINITION OF AN EXTEM- 
POBANEOUS SPEECH wile eh Wee et Wee en lucie Wd eM pooereeeL 
CHAPTER IT 
THE QUALIFICATIONS NECESSARY FOR PUBLIC SPEAKING. . 7 
CHAPTER III 
MENTAL APTITUDES FOR PUBLIC SPEAKING, CAPABLE OF BEING 
FAACQUIRED:, OR) HORMED BY: STUDY) 1) Gn 1.) cea teem eS 
CHAPTER IV 


PHYSICAL QUALITIES OF THE ORATOR, NATURAL AND ACQUIRED 55 


PART Wt 
CHAPTER V 
IDIVISIONAOE THE (SUBJECT eh nc. uc ach) ayeetcy Le ate emg 
CHAPTER VI 
PREPARATION OF THEWELAN Ss i 0 a, foie Cee SPT renga: 
CHAPTER VII 
POLITICAL) AND FORENSIC SPEAKING. < 6. 93.0). fa 381 


CHAPTER VIII 


SPEAKING FROM THE CHRISTIAN PULPIT, AND IN TEACHING . 90 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 
CHAPTER IX 
DETERMINATION OF THE SUBJECT AND CONCEPTION OF THE 
[DEA JOR THE DISCOURSE im) en les tc) cent een. ae eecn eo 
CHAPTER X 
CONCEPTION OF THE SuBJECT—DirEctT MetHop. .. . . 10l 
CHAPTER XI 
CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT—INDIBECT MeTHop. . . . 106 
CHAPTER XII 
THE FORMATION AND THE ARRANGEMENT OF IDEAS. . . . 115 
CHAPTER XIII 
ARRANGEMENT (OF (THE PLAN} (0 a Ges iene del veel ela ne Meet pe 
CHAPTER XIV. 
CHARACTER: OF THE PLAN i 6) 6.0 jee > Wen ee 
CHAPTER XV 
FINAL PREPARATION BEFORE SPEAKING . .... . . 135 
CHAPTER XVI 
FINAL INTELLECTUAL PREPARATION . . . .. .. =~. 137 
CHAPTER XVII 
PINAL) MORAY) PREPARATION: (..) 1) (50) lc) Gea ae a 
CHAPTER XVIII 
BODILY. PREPARATION | il fe), je, feu ec sine eee DIL 
CHAPTER XIX 
TRE DISCOURSE. 5)6 19) 's0 ie) 20s) ell vee mt eee en et 
CHAPTER XX 


THE BEGINNING, OB EXORDIUM'’:)) 5. a.) 3) Seen a ee eS 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XXI 
ENTRANCE INTO THE SUBJECT . 


CHAPTER XXII 
THE DEVELOPMENT 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE CLOSE OF THE DISCOURSE, OR PERORATION . 


CHAPTER XXV 
AFTER THE DISCOURSE . 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THe Locic or THE OBATOR . 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING . 


PAGE 


. 163 


. 168 


. 174 


. 185 


. 189 


. 106 


. 217 





THE ART OF 
EXTEMPORE SPEAKING 


PART I 


CHAPTER I 


EXPOSITION OF THE SUBJECT—DEFINITION OF AN EXTEM- 
PORANEOUS SPEECH 


Let us in the first place exactly determine the subject 
to which we are to devote our attention, in order that 
nothing may be expected beyond that which it is our 
wish and our power to commit to these pages. 

We have no intention of composing a treatise on elo- 
quence. The world has had enough on this subject since 
the time of Aristotle, Cicero, Quintilian, Fenelon, and 
many others. Treatises on rhetoric abound, and it ap- 
pears scarcely necessary to produce a new one. 

It is not proposed to treat of the art of writing, nor, 
consequently, of reciting or properly delivering a dis- 
course elaborated at leisure, and learnt by heart. 

A man may certainly become a great orator by writing 
speeches and reciting them well. Witness Bossuet, Bour- 
daloue, Massillon, and many others. It is possible in 
this manner to instruct, to touch the feelings, and to 
persuade the hearer; which is the object of the art of 
oratory. 


2 STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT 


Our subject is confined within narrower limits, viz. 
to the art of speaking well and suitably in a given situa- 
tion, whether in the Christian pulpit or in the professorial 
chair, at the bar or in deliberative assemblies. We shall 
therefore confine our attention solely to a discourse, 
neither written nor learnt by heart, but improvised; 
necessarily composed by the orator on the very moment 
of delivery, without any preparation or previous combina- 
tion of phrases. Let us then determine, in the first 
place, what is an improvised (or extempore) speech, and 
the manner in which a speech is extemporized. 

Extemporization consists of speaking on the first im- 
pulse; that is to say, without a preliminary arrange- 
ment of phrases. It is the instantaneous manifestation, 
the expression, of an actual thought, or the sudden ex- 
plosion of a feeling or mental movement. 

It is very evident that extemporization can act only 
on the form of words, the form of a discourse; for, in 
order to speak, it is necessary to have something to say, 
and that something must already be existing in the mind, 
or still more deeply in the intimate feeling of the orator. 
Nevertheless, the thought or feeling may be in a con- 
cealed state, and the possessor may not have clearly ap- 
preciated or distinctly perceived it at the moment of 
opening his lips under the impression of some circum- 
stance or some unforeseen cause of excitement. 

Ideas and conditions of the mind cannot be extempo- 
rized; and the more perfectly they are possessed or felt 
the greater is the probability of their lively explosion or 
of their being developed with force and clearness. 

We will not speak of those exceptional cases where a 
passion, involuntarily excited or aroused, bursts forth of 
a sudden in some sublime words, or with an eloquent 
harangue. ‘‘Facit indignatio versum,’’ says Juvenal. 


STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT 3 


Every feeling unexpectedly aroused in an excited mind 
may, like a volcano, scatter around burning lava, or like 
a cloud, charged with storms and bursting suddenly from 
electric commotion, produce thunder and lightning, a 
terrible and devastating hail or a salutary and fertilizing 
shower. No advice ean be given for such a situation, for 
nature alone furnishes the means, in proportion to indi- 
vidual constitution and development. There lies the 
source of all poetry, of all eloquence, and of all artistic 
power. Improvisation such as this recognizes no rules, 
and rejects teaching. The coarsest, the most ignorant 
man may thus occasionally be eloquent, if he feel vividly 
and express himself energetically, in words and gesture. 

We will devote our attention only to prepared ex- 
tempore speaking, that is to say, to those addresses which 
have to be delivered in public before a specified auditory, 
on a particular day, on a given subject, and with the 
view of achieving a certain result. 

It is true that in such cases the discourse, if written 
beforehand, can be recited or read. There are some per- 
sons who are masters of recitation or of reading, and can 
thus produce a great effect. In this manner, doubtless, 
both thoughts and words can be better weighed, and the 
speaker can deliver what he has to say with greater pre- 
cision. But there is this drawback, that the discourse is 
colder, less apposite, and approximates too nearly to dis- 
sertation. Nay, should any unforeseen circumstance 
occur, such as an objection, a rejoinder, or a discussion 
of any kind, the speaker not expecting, may find him- 
self stopped short or at fault, to the great detriment of 
his cause or his subject. Moreover, a preacher, a pro- 
fessor, or a senator, who is liable to be called upon to 
speak at any moment, has not always the time to com- 
pose a discourse, still less to learn it by rote. In speak- 


4 STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT 


ing from his fullness, therefore, as the saying is, he can 
speak oftener, and produce a greater effect, if he speak 
well. 

His speaking will also be more lively and brilliant— 
more real, and more apposite. Originating with the oc- 
casion, and at the very moment, it will bear more closely 
on the subject, and strike with greater force and pre- 
cision. His words will be warmer from their freshness, 
and they will in this manner communicate increased 
fervor to the audience. They will have all the energy 
of an instantaneous effort, and of a sudden burst. 

The vitality of thought is singularly stimulated by this 
necessity of instantaneous production, by this actual 
necessity of self-expression, and of communication to 
other minds. It is a kind of child-bearing in public, of 
which the speaker feels all the effort and all the pain, 
and in this he is assisted and supported by the sympathy 
of his hearers, who witness with lively interest this labor 
of mental life, and who receive with pleasure this 
bantling of thought; that is to say, an idea well con- 
ceived and brought to light; well formed, with a fine ex- 
pression, or with a body of graceful and well-constructed 
phraseology. 

But it is not our object to compare these two methods 
of public speaking, nor to place in the balance their ad- 
vantages and defects. It is possible to excel in both 
ways, and every one must endeavor to discover the man- 
ner which best suits him, and the method by which, ac- 
cording to his nature, his qualities, and his position, his 
words can achieve the greater amount of good, instruct 
more clearly and more fully, and touch the heart more 
effectually. What suits one does not suit another. God 
distributes his gifts as seems best to Him; and every tree 
bears fruit according to its kind. It is important for 


STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT 5 


man to discover the gift he has received, to make use of 
it with usury, and to discharge faithfully his high voca- 
tion. ‘‘Fiunt oratores, nascuntur poete,’’ has said 
Quintilian; meaning, doubtless, that poetie genius is a 
gift from heaven, and that oratorical talent can be ac- 
quired. This is only half true; for if teaching and 
labor can contribute to the formation of an orator, 
neither one nor the other will give him the germ and the 
power of eloquence. They can excite and nourish, but 
they can never ignite the sacred fire. 

But amongst those who have received this divine gift 
of words some have only been enabled to exercise it with 
the pen, and occasionally even the most eloquent writers 
are incapable of delivering in public that which they 
know so well to compose in private. They are troubled 
and embarrassed before even the least imposing audience. 
J. J. Rousseau could never speak in public; and the 
Abbé de Lamennais, whose style is so vigorous, never 
ventured to enter the pulpit, and was unable to address 
even a meeting of children. 

Others, on the contrary, possess the faculty of easily ex- 
pressing in public their feelings and their thoughts. The 
presence of hearers stimulates them, and augments the 
elasticity of their mind and the vivacity of their tongue. 
It is these only that we shall address, for we have spoken 
in this manner through life and have never been able to do 
otherwise. Many a time, however, have we made the at- 
tempt, by preparing an exordium, a tirade, or a perora- 
tion, with the intention of speaking better or in a more 
striking manner. But we have never succeeded in re- 
citing what we had prepared, and in the manner in 
which we had constructed it. Our labored composi- 
tions have always missed their object, and have made us 
embarrassed or obscure. Thus, it appears, we were 


6 STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT 


made, and we have been forced to follow our nature. In 
such matters the lesson to be learnt is in turning to ac- 
count the demands of nature which must be satisfied. 

As extemporizing a speech regards the form only, as 
has been before stated, it follows that, before attempting 
to speak in this manner, two things are necessary. 
1. The foundation of the discourse, or the thought and 
succession of thoughts to be expressed. 2. The means 
of expression, or the language in which they are to be 
spoken, so as to avoid the necessity of seeking the words 
at the same moment as the ideas, and the risk of stopping 
short of or being embarrassed in the composition of the 
phraseology. In other terms, the speaker must know 
what he wishes to say and how to say it. 

Improvisation, therefore, supposes the special quali- 
fications on which we are about to speak, not precisely 
. with the view of teaching the means of acquiring them, 
as for the most part they are gifts of nature; but to in- 
duce those to cultivate and develop them who have the 
good fortune to possess them; and, above all, to point out 
the signs by which any one may discover whether he be 
capable of speaking in public, and how, in so doing, to 
succeed. 


CHAPTER II 


THE QUALIFICATIONS NECESSARY FOR PUBLIC SPEAKING 


At the root of every real talent, whatever it may be, 
there lies a natural aptness, conferring on the person en- 
dowed with it a particular power; and this aptness de- 
pends alike on the intellectual temperament and the 
physical organization; for man being essentially com- 
posed of mind and body, all that he does in reason, or 
in his quality as a reasonable being, comes from these 
two portions of his being and from their mutual rela- 
tions. The mind commands, it is true, and the body 
must obey like an instrument; but the instrument has 
also its influence, especially over the talent of the artist, 
by the manner in which it responds to his wishes, to his 
feelings, to the motions which he communicates to it, to 
the vigor which he seeks to display. Thus speaking is 
an art and the finest of arts; it should express the mind 
by form, ideas by words, feelings by sounds, all that the 
mind feels, thinks, and wishes by signs and external 
action. To obtain skill in this art, therefore, there are 
some qualifications which regard the mind, and others 
which depend on the body. 

The dispositions of the mind are natural or acquired. 
The former, which we are about to set forth in this chap- 
ter, are— 

1. A lively sensibility. 

2. A penetrating intelligence. 

7 


8 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


3. A sound reason, or, as it is commonly called, good 
sense. 

4. A prompt imagination. 

5. A firm and decisive will. 

6. A natural necessity of expansion, or of communi- 
cating to others ideas and feelings. 

7. Finally, a certain instinct which urges a man to 
speak, as a bird to sing. 


1—A LIVELY SENSIBILITY 


Art has its root in sensibility, and although it de- 
pends much on the body, and especially on the nerves 
which are its physical medium, sensibility is neverthe- 
less one of the principal powers of the mind, not to say 
a faculty, as the word faculty denotes a manner of acting, 
and as sensibility is a manner of suffering or of sustain- 
ing an action. 

Thus the mind which lives only by its affinities, and 
which for action always requires an impression, acts 
only in proportion to the incitements it receives, and the 
manner in which it receives them. It is, therefore, in 
this peculiar manner of receiving and appropriating im- 
pressions of things that consists the vivacity of sensibility 
necessary to speaking, as to every artistic expression. 
Every man feels according to his sensitiveness; but all do 
not feel in the same manner, and thus are neither able 
to express what they feel in the same manner, nor dis- 
posed to the same kind of expression. Hence vocation 
to the different arts, or the natural inclination of the 
mind to express one particular thing which it feels the 
more, and with the greater pleasure. In this, also, lies 
the origin of taste in art, and for a particular art, 
whether in the exercise of such art or in the appreciation 
of its works. Some have more taste and facility in the 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 9 


plastic arts; others in the acoustic arts; and even in the 
exercise of the same art there are different dispositions to 
a certain mode of expression which produce different 
styles. Thus in poetry there are poets who compose odes, 
epic poetry, tragedy, comedy, satyr, idyls and eclogues, 
etc., ete., which are all poetic expressions of the human 
mind; and so far they resemble each other; but they dif- 
fer in the object which they reproduce, in the manner of 
representing it, and a poet in one style rarely succeeds 
in another. He can sing in one strain and not otherwise, 
as the song of a lark is not that of a nightingale. 

It is thus in the art of speaking, in eloquence as re- 
gards the object to be expressed. One speaker is more 
suited to set forth ideas, their connection, and their grada- 
tions. He discerns perfectly the congruity, the differ- 
ence, the contrast of thoughts, and thus he will deliver 
them suddenly with much facility, delicacy, and subtilty. 
He has perception, a taste for idea; he conceives it dis- 
tinetly, and will therefore enunciate it gracefully and 
clearly. Such a one is made to teach and instruct. 

Another has a greater enjoyment of everything re- 
lating to the feelings, the affections, to soft or strong 
emotions. He will therefore employ with greater pleas- 
ure and greater success all that can touch, move, and 
hurry away: he will, above all, cause the fibers of the 
heart to vibrate. Such a one will be an orator rather 
than a professor, and will be better able to persuade by 
emotion than to convince by reason. 

A third delights in images and pictures. He feels 
more vividly everything that he can grasp and repro- 
duce in his imagination; he therefore takes pleasure in 
these reproductions. Such a one will therefore be 
specially a descriptive speaker, and will rise almost to 
poetry in his prose. He will speak to the imagination 


10 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


of his hearers rather than to their heart or mind: he will 
affect but little, and instruct still less; but he will be able 
to amuse and interest, he will attract by originality, by 
the variety of his pictures, and by the vivacity and bril- 
lianey of his coloring. 

In these different instances we see that sensibility is 
vividly excited either by ideas, by feelings, or by images; 
and it is evident that he who would extemporize a dis- 
course in one of these three methods must begin by feel- 
ing vividly the subject of which he has to speak, and 
that his expression will always be proportionate to the 
impression of it he will have received and retained. 

But if sensibility must be strong, it must nevertheless 
not be excited to excess; for it then renders expression 
impossible from the agitation of the mind and the over- 
excitement of the nervous system, which paralyzes the 
organs. Thus, the precept of Horace, ‘‘Si vis me flere, 
dolendum est primum ipsi tibi,’’ is true only for those 
who write in their closet, and does not apply to the ora- 
tor. Before the public, he must not weep, nor even be 
moved to such a point that his voice will fail him, or be 
stifled by sobs; he must weep with his voice, and not with 
his eyes; he should have tears in his voice, but so as to be 
master of them. 

At times, doubtless, a great effect may be produced by 
the very inability to speak, caused by the enthusiasm of 
feeling or the violence of grief; but then the discourse is 
finished, or, rather, it is no longer needed, and little 
matter, if the object be attained. But, for the art of 
oratory, sensibility must be restrained sufficiently at 
least for words to run their proper course. The feelings 
must not explode at once, but escape little by little, so as 
gradually to animate the whole body of the discourse. 
It is thus that art idealizes nature in rejecting all that 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 11 


from instinct or passion may be too rough or impetuous. 
The character of Christian art, that which renders it 
sublime, is, that in all its works there is a predominance 
of mind over matter, of the soul over the body, of man 
over nature. Christian feeling is never intemperate, 
never disorderly. It is always restrained within a cer- 
tain point by the power of that will which, assisted by 
the higher strength supporting it, governs events, or 
rather, does not yield to them; and when it appears over- 
come it bends beneath the storm of adversity, but is 
righted by resignation, and does not break. It is more 
‘than the thinking reed of Pascal; it is a reed that wills. 
For this reason the types of Christian art will never be 
surpassed. Never beneath the sun will there be seen 
images more sublime or more beautiful than the figures 
of Jesus Christ and the Virgin. In this point of view 
the Christian orator, inasmuch as he is a Christian, is 
very superior to the Pagan orator: he conceives, he feels 
very differently, both earthly and heavenly things, and 
his manner of feeling is more spiritual, pure, and worthy 
of man, for being less material, it gives to his expression 
something noble, elevated and superhuman, approaching 
the language of heaven. 

The same may be said for the statement of ideas. It 
is doubtless necessary that they should be felt strongly 
with all that they embrace, so that they may be analyzed 
and developed; that the developed may be re-embodied, 
again concentrated, and reduced to unity. In this oper- 
ation there is an infinity of gradations which must be 
delicately perceived and appreciated. But if this feel- 
ing become too strong, or too completely take possession 
of the mind, analysis or exposition becomes impossible; 
the speaker is absorbed by the contemplation only of the 
general idea, is unable to enter upon its development, 


12 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


and from that moment he is incapable of speaking. This 
is the case with men of genius, but of an exaggerated 
mental sensibility, who feel the necessity of writing to 
display their thoughts, because they require time to re- 
flect and recover themselves from the fullness of the idea 
which overcomes them at first, or when they are required 
to speak of a sudden. Such was probably the case with 
Rousseau, who was endowed with remarkable sensibility 
of mind. It may even happen that a too vehement and 
overexclusive perception of an idea may convert it into 
a fixed idea, and may lead to madness. Everything is so 
well balanced in our existence, everything must be done 
in such measure and proportion, that, no sooner do we 
exceed, however little, that mean point where lies the 
relative perception of humanity—than we fall into exag- 
geration, which destroys and renders powerless as much 
as deficiency itself—In medio virtus. 

For description, sensibility, and even exquisite sensi- 
bility, is required, but here also not too much, otherwise 
we wander to impressions of detail, and we end by pro- 
ducing a species of poem or monograph of each flower or 
object which pleases us. 

It is what is called in painting tableaux de genre, 
which may for an instant attract and amuse, but which 
do not represent one deep idea or one worthy of art. It 
is in literature that kind of poetry or romance which the 
Germans, and especially the English, delight in, and 
which consists in painting in the greatest detail the com- 
monest things of life. Impressions are then taken from 
the domestic hearth, from the life of a family, or of a 
country, as xsthetic sentiments, as effects of art, falling 
into a paltry realism, which lowers art in making it de- 
scend to the commonplace and absurdities of reality. 
Finally, it is the defect of those preachers who delight in 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 13 


gontinual descriptions, whether of physical or of moral 
nature, whose sermons, subject to their taste for imagery, 
are only galleries of pictures which may amuse those who 
think to recognize in them the portraits of others, but 
which can never instruct nor touch any one. He who 
would speak well, therefore, must feel what he has to 
say with sufficient strength to express it with warmth 
and vivacity; but his feeling must not attain that vehe- 
mence which prevents the mind from acting, and 
paralyzes the expression from the very fullness of the 
feeling. This would be a sort of intellectual apoplexy, 
taking away the gift of speech, and rendering it power- 
less by excess of life. 


2—KEEN INTELLIGENCE 


In speaking, the feeling or that which is felt, must be 
resolved into ideas, thoughts, images, and thence into 
words, phrases, language, as a cloud or condensed vapor 
is transformed and distilled into rain. ‘‘Eloquium 
Domini sicut imbres,’’ says the Psalmist. The faculty 
which effects this transformation, by the operation of the 
mind accounting inwardly and reflectively for all that is 
passing through it, is intelligence, or the faculty of read- 
ing in ourselves. It is for this reason that animals pos- 
sessing sensibility, and at times senses even more subtle 
than those of man, are incapable of speaking, in a strict 
sense, although, like all other beings on earth, and espe- 
cially living beings, they have a spontaneous language, 
by which is naturally manifested all that takes place in 
them. They have no intelligence, and thus they have 
neither consciousness nor reflection, though there exists 
in them a principle of life, gifted with sensibility and in- 
stinet, which gives them the semblance of human intelli- 
gence, but it cannot be maintained that they are reason- 


14 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


able, which would imply liberty and moral responsibility 
for their acts. For reason to exist, it is necessary that 
the mind, capable of feeling and seeing, should have the 
power of self-possession by means of reflection, and to 
consider and analyze by thought all that it has perceived 
and seen. Thus is formed in us an intellectual world 
peopled by our conceptions, that is to say, with ideas, 
with notions and images, which we can compare, com- 
bine, and divide in a thousand manners, according to 
their approximation or their difference; and which are 
finally expressed in speech—the successive development 
of which is always the analysis of thought. 

Thus every extemporized discourse presupposes a pre- 
liminary operation of thought. The thought must have 
been well conceived, held, and grasped in a single idea 
which contains the whole substance. Then, for the ex- 
position of this idea, it must have been divided into its 
principal parts, or into other subordinate ideas as mem- 
bers of it, and then again into others still more minutely, 
until the subject is exhausted. This multitude of 
thoughts must be well arranged, so that at the very mo- 
ment each may arrive in the place marked out for it, and 
appear in its turn in the discourse to play its part and 
fulfill its function, the value of which consists in the an- 
tecedents which prepare and the consequences which de- 
velop it, as figures in an arithmetical operation have 
value in themselves and also by their position. 

Much intelligence is therefore required for this prepar- 
atory labor, so useful in extemporization; or, in other 
words, for the elaboration of a plan, without which it 
would be risk to hazard on ground so dangerous and so 
slippery. The first condition of speaking is to know 
what is intended to be said, and the greater the intelli- 
gence employed in the preparation of the speech, and the 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 15 


more clearly is it conceived, the greater the probability 
of presenting it well to others or of speaking well. 

That which is well conceived is clearly enunciated. 

Nevertheless, this first labor is not sufficient; it is 
easy enough in the silence of the closet, pen in hand, to 
elaborate a plan to be committed to paper, and polished 
at leisure. But this plan must pass from the paper 
to the head, and be there established in divisions and 
subdivisions, according to the order of thoughts both 
as a whole and in detail; which cannot be well done, and 
in a sure and lasting manner, unless the mind keeps the 
ideas linked by their intimate, and not by their super- 
ficial relations—by accidental or purely external associa- 
tions, such as are formed by the imagination and the 
senses. In a word, there must reign between all the 
parts of the plan an order of filiation or generation; 
which is called the logical connection. Thus, the logical 
connection is the product of the intelligence which in- 
tuitively perceives the connection of ideas, even the most 
removed and the most profound; and of the reason which 
completes the view of the intelligence, by showing on the 
one hand connection by a chain of intermediary ideas, 
and on the other the order of this connection, by means 
of reflection, and unites them in a thought to be pre- 
sented, or an end to be attained. 

Then comes a third step, which exacts even a greater 
subtilty and greater promptitude of mind. This plan 
which has been committed to paper, which is now care- 
fully kept in the head, must be realized in words, and 
endowed with flesh and life in the discourse. It is like 
dry bones which, by the breath of the orator, are of a 
sudden to reassume their muscles, nerves and skin, and 
to rise, each in its place, to form a living body, beautiful 
to behold. The speaker must successively pass before 


16 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


his hearers all that he carries in his mind—all his ideas, 
in suddenly giving to each, in its place, body, covering, 
color, and life. He should, however, while speaking, 
Janus-like, see double; within, at his plan; without, at 
the thread of his discourse; so as to keep within the line 
of his thought, without disturbing his arrangement, or 
diverging. He must, finally, be able, as on a day of 
battle, suddenly to modify what he has beforehand pre- 
pared; following whatever may present itself, and this 
without relinquishing his principal idea, which sustains 
all, and without which he would become the plaything of 
chance. He requires still many things, which will be 
pointed out later, when we shall have to speak of the dis- 
course itself; and all of which, like those which we have 
just mentioned, presumes the exercise of an intense, 
rapid, and most penetrating intelligence. 


3—RIGHT REASON OR GOOD SENSE 


A great deal of talent may exist without common sense, 
and this is often the case with clever persons, and espe- 
cially those who wish to appear clever. By endeavoring 
to study objects under new phases, to say new things, or 
things apparently new, they end by never considering 
them in a right light; and the habit of regarding them in 
all manner of aspects, takes away the faculty of seeing 
them in full and directly, in their true meanings and 
natural bearings. 

Now, nothing is so fatal to octemporenton as this 
wretched facility of the mind for losing itself in details, 
and neglecting the main point. Without at this mo- 
ment speaking of the construction of the plan, wherein 
simplicity and clearness, to which good sense is singularly 
conducive, ought, above all things, to prevail, it is evi- 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 17 


dent that this quality, so useful in conduct and in busi- 
ness, is more than ever so in the instantaneous formation 
of a discourse, and in the dangerous task of extempo- 
rizing, whether as regards matter or manner. 

Good sense is the instinctive action of right reason, 
discriminating with a rapidity of feeling, and by a sort 
of taste, what is or is not suitable in any given situation. 
Therefore, it is a sudden appreciation of a thousand 
bearings depending on circumstances, as when, amidst 
the fervor of delivery and from the general effect of the 
address—things not to be estimated by the plan alone, 
but declaring themselves on the instant—an idea on 
which stress should be laid—what part of it should be 
neglected—what should be compressed—what should be 
enlarged upon—must all be promptly seized. Then a 
new thought which suggests itself and must be intro- 
duced—an explanation which might run to too great a 
length and which must be abridged—an emotion or ef- 
fect to be excited as you pass on without losing sight of 
the main effect—a digression into which you may enter 
without breaking the guiding thread of this labyrinth 
and while at need recovering it—all have to be judged 
of, decided upon, and executed at the very moment it- 
self, and during the unsuspended progress of the dis- 
course. 

The same applies to the form or style of the speech. 
How many mental and literary proprieties to be ob- 
served! <A doubtful phrase coming into the mouth and 
to be discarded—an ambitious, pretentious expression to 
be avoided—a trite or commonplace term which occurs 
and to be excluded—a sentence which is opened with a 
certain boldness and the close of which is not yet clear 
—even while you are finishing the development of one 
period, your view thrown forward to the next thought, 


18 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


and to the link which is to connect it with that which 
you are ending! Truly there is enough to produce gid- 
diness when one reflects on the matter; nevertheless, the 
discernment of such a multiplicity of points must be 
instantaneous, and indeed it is performed with a kind 
of certainty, and as it were of its own accord, if the sub- 
ject have been fitly prepared, if you be thoroughly in 
possession of it, and if you be well inclined at the mo- 
ment. 

But in order to walk with this direct and firm step 
through a discourse, which arises, as it were, before the 
orator in proportion as he advances, like an enchanted 
forest, all teeming with sorceries and apparitions, in 
which so many different paths cross each other—in order 
to accept none of these brilliant phantoms save those 
which can be serviceable to the subject, dispelling like 
vain shadows all the rest—in order to choose exactly the 
road which best leads to your destination, and, above all, 
to keep constantly in that which you have marked out for 
yourself beforehand, shunning all the other byways, 
however alluring they may appear, and not allowing 
yourself to be carried away or to swerve from your line, 
either in gait or deportment—you most assuredly re- 
quire that clear, decisive, and certain sight which good 
sense gives, and that kind of instinct or taste for truth 
which it alone produces. 


4—READINESS OF IMAGINATION 


Imagination is like a double-faced mirror, in part 
turned towards the outer world, and reflecting its ob- 
jects, in part towards the light of ideas, tinging it with 
its hues, forming it into representations, and disposing 
it in pictures, while decomposing it as the prism the 
solar ray. It is thus that speech renders metaphysical 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 19 


objects more approachable and comprehensible; it gives 
them a body, or a raiment, which makes them visible and 
almost palpable. 

Imagination is one of the most necessary of the ora- 
tor’s faculties, and especially to him who extemporizes, 
first, in order that he may be able to fix his plan well 
in his mind—for it is chiefly by means of the imagina- 
tion that it is there fixed, or painted; in the second 
place, in order that it may be preserved there in full 
life, well connected, and well arranged, until the mo- 
ment for realizing it or putting it forth by means of 
the discourse. Imagination is also very useful to him 
in order to represent suddenly to himself what he wishes 
to express to others when a new thought arises, and 
when an image, germinating, as it were, in the heat of 
oratorical action, like a flower opening forthwith under 
the sun’s rays, is presented unexpectedly to the mind. 
Then the instant he has a glimpse of it, after having 
rapidly decided whether it suits the subject and befits 
its place, he, while yet speaking, seizes it eagerly, passes 
it warm beneath the active machinery of the imagina- 
tion, extends, refines, develops, makes it ductile and glit- 
tering, and marks it at once with some of the types or 
molds which imagination possesses. Or else, if we 
may be allowed another comparison, the thought passes 
through the presses of the imagination, like those sheets 
of paper which revolve between the cylinders of mechan- 
ical presses, and issue forth all covered with characters 
and images. 

Now this most complicated and subtle labor must be 
performed with the quickness of lightning, amidst the 
onward current of the discourse, which cannot be ar- 
rested or slackened without becoming languid. The 
imagination ought then to be endowed with great quick- 


20 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


ness in the formation and variation of its pictures; but 
it requires also great clearness, in order to produce at 
the first effort, a well-marked image, the lines and out- 
lines defined with exactitude, and the tints bright—so 
that language has only to reproduce it unhesitatingly, 
and unconfusedly, as an object is faithfully represented 
in a spotless glass. For you must not grope for your 
words while speaking, under penalty of braying like a 
donkey, which is the death of a discourse. The expres- 
sion of the thought must be effected at the first stroke, 
and decidedly—a condition which hinders many men, 
and even men of talent, from speaking in public. Their 
imagination is not sufficiently supple, ready, or clear; 
it works too slowly, and is left behind by the lightning of 
the thought, which at first dazzles it, a result due either 
to a natural deficiency, or to want of practice; or else— 
and this is the most general case with men of talent, it 
arises from allowing the mind to be too much excited 
and agitated in the presence of the public and in the 
hurry of the moment; whence a certain incapacity for 
speaking, not unlike inability to walk produced by gid- 
diness. 


5—FIRMNESS AND DECISION OF WILL 


Unquestionably courage is necessary to venture upon 
speaking in public. To rise before an assembly, often 
numerous and imposing, without books or notes, carry- 
ing everything in the head, and to undertake a discourse 
in the midst of general silence, with all eyes fixed on 
you, under the obligation of keeping that audience at- 
tentive and interested for three quarters of an hour, an 
hour, and sometimes longer, is assuredly an arduous 
task and a weighty burden. All who accept this bur- 
den, or have it imposed upon them, know how heavy it 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 21 


is, and what physical and mental suffering is experienced 
until it is discharged. Timidity or hesitation will make 
a person incapable of the duty; and such will always re- 
coil from the dangers of the situation. 

When, indeed, it is remembered, how little is required 
to disconcert and even paralyze the orator—his own con- 
dition, bodily and moral, which is not always favorable 
at a given moment—that of the hearers so unstable and 
prone to vary never known—the distractions which may 
assail and divert him from his subject—the failure per- 
haps of memory, so that a part of the plan, and occa- 
sionally its main division, may be lost on the instant 
—the inertness of the imagination, which may play him 
false, and bring feebly and confusedly to the mind what 
it represents—the escape of an unlucky expression 
—the not finding the proper term—a sentence badly 
begun, out of which he no longer knows his way 
—and finally, all the influences to which he is sub- 
jected, and which converge upon him from a thou- 
sand eyes—when all these things are borne in mind, it is 
truly enough to make a person lose head or heart, and 
the only wonder is that men can be found who will face 
such dangers, and fling themselves into the midst of 
them. Nor, indeed, ought they to be courted save when 
duty urges, when your mission enjoins it, or in order to 
fulfill some obligation of conscience or of position. Any 
other motive—such as ambition, vainglory, or interest— 
exposes you to cruel miscalculations and well-merited 
downfalls. 

The strength of will needful to face such a situation 
is of course aided and sustained by a suitable prepara- 
tion; and, of all preparations the best is to know well 
what you would say, and to have a clear conception of 
it. But yet, besides the possession of the idea and the 





22 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


chain of the thoughts on which you have a good hold, 
there is still the hazard of uttering appropriate or inap- 
propriate words. Who is assured beforehand, that, on 
such a day, expressions will not prove rebellious to him, 
that the right phrase will come in the place appointed, 
and that language (like a sword) will not turn its edge? 
It is in the details of diction at the moment, or the in- 
stantaneous composition of the discourse and of sen- 
tences, that great decision is required to select words as 
they fly past, to control them immediately, and, amidst 
many unsuitable, to allow none but what are suitable 
to drop from the lips. Moreover, a certain boldness is 
required—and who knows whether it will always be a 
successful boldness ?’—to begin the development of any 
sudden idea, without knowing whither it will lead you— 
to obey some oratorical inspiration which may carry 
you far away from the subject, and finally, to enter, and 
to jump, as it were, with both feet together, into a sen- 
tence, the issue of which you cannot foresee, particularly 
in French, which has only one possible class of termina- 
tions to its periods. Nevertheless, when once you have 
begun, you must rigidly beware of retreating by any 
break in the thought or in the sentence. You must go 
on daringly to the end, even though you take refuge in 
some unauthorized turn of expression or some incorrect- 
ness of language. Timid minds are frightened from 
adopting these extreme resources; for which reason we 
affirm that to expose oneself to this hazard—and who- 
ever extemporizes does so—decision and even a little 
rashness of will are necessary, beforehand and during 
the process, in order to sustain it, to undergo all with- 
out fainting, and to reach the destination without a 
serious wound, or, at all events, without a fall. 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 23 


6—EXPANSIVENESS OF CHARACTER 


There are two sorts of expansiveness, that of the mind 
and that of the heart. 

The mind seeks after truth, which is its natural ob- 
ject. 

Now truth is like light, or rather, it 7s the light of 
the intelligence; and this is why it is diffusive by its 
very nature, and spontaneously enters wherever an ave- 
nue is opened to it. When, therefore, we perceive or 
think that we perceive a truth, the mind rejoices in and 
feeds upon it, because it is its natural aliment; in assimi- 
lating and appropriating it, the mind partakes of its ex- 
pansive force, and experiences the desire of announcing 
to others what it knows itself, and of making them see 
what it sees. It is its happiness to become a torch of 
this light, and to help in diffusing it. It sometimes even 
glories in the joy it feels; the pride also of enlightening 
our fellows, and so of ruling them to a certain extent, 
and of seeming above them, is part of the feeling. A 
keen and intelligent mind, which seeks truth, seizes it 
quickly and conceives it clearly, is more eager than an- 
other to communicate what it knows; and if, along with 
this, such a mind loves glory—and who loves it not, at 
least in youth?—it will be impelled the more towards 
public speaking, and more capable of exercising the 
power of eloquence. 

But there is, besides, a certain disposition of char- 
acter and heart which contributes much to the same re- 
sult, as is seen in women and children, who speak will- 
ingly and with great ease, on account of their more im- 
pressionable sensibility, the delicacy of their organs, and 
their extreme mobility. Something of this is required 
in the extemporizer. A self-centered person, who re- 


24 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


flects a great deal and meditates long before he can per- 
ceive a truth or seize an analogy, and who either can- 
not or will not manifest what he feels or thinks until he 
has exactly shaped the expression of it, is not fitted for 
extemporaneous speaking. A melancholy, morose, mis- 
anthropie person, who shuns society, dreads the inter- 
course of men, and delights in solitary musing, will have 
a difficulty in speaking in public; he has not the taste 
for it, and his nature is against it. What is needed for 
this art, with a quick mind, is an open, confiding, and 
cheerful character, which loves men and takes pleasure 
in joining itself to others. Mistrust shuts the heart, the 
mind, and the mouth. 

This expansiveness of character, which is favorable 
to extemporaneous speaking, has certainly its disadvan- 
tages also. It sometimes gives to the mind an unsettled 
levity and too much recklessness, and something venture- 
some or superficial to the style. But these disadvantages 
may be lessened or neutralized by a serious prepara- 
tion, by a well-considered and well-defined plan, which 
will sustain and direct the exuberance of language, and 
remove by previous reflection the chances of digressive- 
ness and inconsequence. 


7—INSTINCTIVE OR NATURAL GIFT OF SPEAKING 


Art may develop, and perfect the talent of a speaker, 
but cannot produce it. The exercises of grammar and 
of rhetoric will teach a person how to speak correctly 
and elegantly ; but nothing can teach him to be eloquent, 
or give that eloquence which comes from the heart and 
goes to the heart. All the precepts and artifices on 
earth can but form the appearances or semblance of it. 
Now this true and natural eloquence which moves, per- 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 29 


suades, and transports, consists of a soul and a body, 
like man, whose image, glory, and word it is. 

The soul of eloquence is the center of the human soul 
itself, which, enlightened by the rays of an idea, or 
warmed and stirred by an impression, flashes or bursts 
forth to manifest, by some sign or other, what it feels or 
sees. This it is which gives movement and life to a 
discourse ; it is like a kindled torch, or a shuddering and 
vibrating nerve. 

The body of eloquence is the taneuage which it re- 
quires in order to speak, and which must harmoniously 
clothe what it thinks or feels, as a fine shape harmonizes 
with the spirit which it contains. The material part of 
language is learnt instinctively, and practice makes us 
feel and seize its delicacies and shades. The understand- 
ing then, which sees rightly and conceives clearly, and 
the heart which feels keenly, find naturally, and without 
effort, the words and the arrangement of words most 
analogous to what is to be expressed. Hence the innate 
talent of eloquence, which results alike from certain in- 
tellectual and moral aptitudes, and from the physical 
constitution, especially from that of the senses and of 
the organs of the voice. 

There are men organized to speak well as there are 
birds organized to sing well, bees to make honey, and 
beavers to build. 

Doubtless, all men are capable of speaking, since they 
are rational beings, and the exercise of reason is im- 
possible without speech; beyond all doubt, moreover, 
any man may become momentarily eloquent, being sud- 
denly illuminated by an idea, by some passing inspira- 
tion, or the vehement impulse of a feeling, or a desire; 
bursts also and cries of passion are often of a high kind 


26 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 


of eloquence. But it is the effect of an instant, which 
passes away with the unusual circumstances which have 
produced it; during the rest of their lives these same 
persons may speak very ill, and be incapable of pro- 
nouncing a sentence in public. They have not the gift 
of words, and those alone who are endowed with it by 
nature, can derive advantage from the advice we offer, 
in order to turn this precious talent to account in the 
service of truth and justice. 

It is with eloquence as with all art; to sueceed in it 
you must be made for it, or called to it incessantly, and 
in a manner almost unconquerable, by a mysterious 
tendency or inexplicable attraction, which influences the 
whole being, which ultimately turns to its object, as the 
magnetic needle to the north. At the root of all arts, 
so various in their expression, there is something in com- 
mon to them all—namely, the life of the soul, the life of 
the mind, which feels the want of diffusing, manifesting, 
and multiplying itself; each individual also has some- 
thing peculiar and original, by which he is impelled, on 
account of his special organization, or constitution of 
mind and body, to reproduce his mental life in such or 
such a way, by such or such means, or in such or such a 
material form. Hence the boundless diversity of the 
arts and of their productions. Speech is certainly the 
noblest and most powerful of the arts: first, because by 
its nature, it is nearest to the intelligence whose ideas it 
alone perfectly expresses; secondly, in consequence of 
the higher purity, the more exquisite delicacy of its 
means of expression, being the least gross of any, hold- 
ing on to earth by nothing save a light breath; lastly, 
on account of its great directness of action, so powerful 
over the mind, making it conceive things, comprehend 
thought, and grasp the truth. 


NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY 27 


In order, then, to exercise with success the art of 
speaking—or to speak eloquently—it is necessary to 
have a natural talent, which is a gift of Heaven, and 
which all science with its precepts, and all earth’s teach- 
ing with its exercises, are unable to supply. 


CHAPTER III 


MENTAL APTITUDES FOR PUBLIC SPEAKING, CAPABLE OF 
BEING ACQUIRED, OR FORMED BY STUDY 


Tue dispositions which can be acquired, or formed by 
study, come next after the natural aptitudes of the 
mind, and these will be the subject of this chapter. 

We give the name of acquired dispositions to certain 
aptitudes of mind, the germ of which is no doubt sup- 
plied by nature, but which may be called forth and de- 
veloped in a remarkable manner by instruction, practice, 
and habit, whereas purely natural talent, although it 
also may be perfected by art, resembles, nevertheless, to 
a certain extent, that instinct which attains its object at 
the first effort. It may even happen that a remarkable 
acquired ability, such, for instance, as the art of speak- 
ing rhetorically, has but slight natural root, that is, but 
little real talent, producing nothing except by dint of 
art, practice, and toil; but if the natural root be absent, 
however beautiful the products may at first appear, peo- 
ple soon feel their artificial character and want of 
life. 

The acquired mental aptitudes are, the art or method 
of thinking and the art or method of saying. But be- 
fore considering them, we will say a few words about 
the orator’s fund or store of acquirements, which must 
not be confounded with acquired qualities. 


1—ACQUISITIONS OR FUND NEEDFUL TO THE ORATOR 


The orator’s capital is that sum of science or knowl- 


edge which is necessary to him in order to speak per- 
28 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 29 


tinently upon any subject whatever; and science or 
knowledge are not extemporized. Although knowledge 
does not give the talent for speaking, still he who knows 
well what he has to say, has many chances of saying it 
well, especially if he has a clear and distinct concep- 
tion of it. 


“What you conceive aright you express clearly; 
And the words to say it in, come easily.” 


It is an excellent preparation, then, for the art of 
speaking to study perseveringly—not merely the mat- 
ter about which you have to discourse—a thing always 
done before speaking in public, unless a person be pre- 
sumptuous and demented—but generally all those sub- 
jects which form part of a liberal education, and which 
constitute the usual instruction of men intended for in- 
tellectual and moral professions. These were what were 
formerly termed classical studies, and they included 
grammar, rhetoric, logic, a certain portion of litera- 
ture, history, mathematical and physical science, and re- 
ligious knowledge. These ‘‘classical studies’’ were per- 
fected and completed by the superior courses of the uni- 
versities. 

To have gone through a good educational career, or 
been distinguished at school, as it is commonly ex- 
pressed, is an immense advantage; for it is in childhood 
and youth that the greatest number of things are learnt, 
and learnt best, in the sense, that knowledge acquired at 
that age is the most durable. It is more than this, it is 
ineffaceable, and constitutes an indestructible fund, a 
sort of mental ground-work upon which is raised all 
other instruction and education; and this fund, accord- 
ing to the manner in which it is placed in the mind 
determines the solidity and dimensions of each person’s 
intellectual and moral existence. 


30 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


It is impossible to estimate accurately the influence of 
the first instruction which a man receives: that influ- 
ence depends upon the virtue of the words which in- 
struct, and on the way they are received. It is a sort of 
fertilization, the fruits of which are sometimes slow in 
ripening, and come forth late. As the life-giving action 
of instruction cannot be exercised except by words and 
the signs of language, the form often overlies the spirit, 
and many retain scarcely more than the letter or the 
words, which they reproduce from memory with great 
facility. The larger part of infantine successes and 
collegiate glories consist of this. Others, on the con- 
trary, deeply smitten with the spirit of what is said, 
early conceive ideas of a fertile kind destined to be- 
come the parent ideas of all their future thoughts. The 
more impressed and absorbed their mind is interiorly, 
the Jess vivid, the less brilliant it appears exteriorly. 
It carries within it confusedly ideas which are too great 
for what contains them, and of which it cannot yet 
render to itself an account; and it is only afterwards, 
when it has capacity and time for reflection, that it 
knows how to recognize, turn to advantage, and bring 
forth to the light, the treasures buried within. 

Hence two kinds of fund or of intellectual wealth, the 
fruit of instruction, and derived from the manner in 
which it has been given and received. 

1. A collection of words, expressions, images, facts, 
superficial thoughts, commonplaces — things commonly 
received and already discussed; whatever, in a word, 
strikes the senses, excites the imagination, and easily 
impresses itself upon the memory. It is not to be 
denied that this intellectual baggage, however light, ac- 
cumulated during many years, and arranged with a cer- 
tain degree of order, may be of some service towards 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 31 


speaking with facility on some occasions, but then like 
a rhetorician; that 1s, composing on the instant a sort 
of discourse or harangue more or less elegant, wherein 
there may be certain happy expressions but few ideas, 
and which may yet afford a transient pleasure to the 
listener, without moving or instructing him. In many 
circumstances, discourses of this class are in keeping; 
they at least suffice. It is a part played in a given 
situation, a portion of the program performed, and 
it is assuredly an advantage not to be despised to acquit 
oneself of it with honor, or even without discredit. 

2. But the real fund is in ideas, not in phrases, in the 
succession or connection of the thoughts, and not in a 
series of facts or images. He who has laid in a store 
in this manner is not so ready at a speech, because there 
is within him a veritable thought with which his spirit 
strives in order to master, possess, and manifest it, so 
soon as he shall have thoroughly entered into it; such 
a man speaks not merely from memory or imagination, 
only and always with a labor of the understanding, 
and then what he produces is something with life in it 
and capable of inspiring life—and this is just what 
distinguishes the orator from the rhetorician. 

The latter may charm by his language, but he im- 
parts no life; and thus nothing is produced in the mind 
of the hearer. It is pleasant music which delights the 
ear for a moment, and leaves nothing behind it. Voz et 
preterea nihil. 

The former raises up a new set of objects in the 
hearer’s mind, producing therein feelings, affections, 
emotions, ideas; he renews it, transforms it, and turns 
it into a likeness of himself; and as the Almighty created 
all things by His word, so the true orator animates 
those who understand him by his, and makes them live 


32 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


with his own intellectual life. But in this, as in all 
things, it is only by a Divine virtue that life is trans- 
mitted. The sacred fire which warms the bosom of the 
orator is inspiration from on high: pectus est quod diser- 
tum facit. Without this life-giving fire, the finest 
phrases that can be put together are but sounding brass 
and tinkling cymbals. 

The fund to be amassed, therefore, by those who in- 
tend to speak in public, is a treasury of ideas, thoughts, 
and principles of knowledge, strongly conceived, firmly 
linked together, carefully wrought out, in such a way 
that, throughout all this diversity of study, the mind, so 
far as may be, shall admit nothing save what it thor- 
oughly comprehends, or at least has made its own to a 
certain extent, by meditation. Thus, knowledge be- 
comes strangely melted down, not cumbersome to the un- 
derstanding; and not overburdening the memory. It is 
the essence of things reduced to their simplest ex- 
pression, and comprising all their concentrated virtue. 
It is the drop of oil extracted from thousands of roses, 
and fraught with their accumulated odors; the healing 
power of a hundred-weight of bark in a few grains of 
quinine. In a word, it is the idea in its intellectuality, 
and metaphysical purity, compared to the multiplicity 
of facts and images from which it has been extracted, 
and of which it is the law. This point is not well 
enough understood in our day, when material things 
are made paramount, and the spirit is postponed to the 
letter—to such a degree indeed that even in instruction, 
and in spiritual or mental things, no less than in all 
else, quantity is considered more than quality. 

Under the specious pretext of preparing men betimes 
for their future profession in society, and of making 
them what are called special men, their attention is di- 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 33 


rected from the tenderest age to phenomena, which 
occupy the senses and the imagination without exciting 
thought; and above all, without recalling the mind 
home to itself, in order to teach it self-knowledge, self- 
direction, and _ self-possession—worth, assuredly, the 
knowledge or possession of everything else. Instruction 
is materialized to the utmost; and in the same degree 
education is sensualized. It is driven. headlong into 
that path which is the acknowledged reproach of con- 
temporary art—not nature and truth, but naturalism 
and realism. People care no longer for any but posi- 
tive, or, as it is styled, professional instruction—that is, 
such as may directly serve to earn the bread of this 
world. Men are trained for the one end of turning 
this earth to account, and securing in it a comfortable 
position. It is forgotten that the true man, like thought, 
is an idea even more than a body or a letter, and 
that the body and the letter have no value except from 
the idea which animates him, and which he should ex- 
press. The ideal is dreaded now-a-days, or rather it is 
not understood, it is no longer appreciated, because our 
views are absorbed by the real, and the pleasures of the 
body are more sought after than those of the mind. 

For this reason the natural and physical sciences, 
which make matter their study, with mathematics as 
their handmaidens, because they measure the finite, are 
so much honored in our day. In these pursuits every- 
thing is positive—matter, form, letter, number, weight, 
and measure; and as the end of these studies is the 
amelioration, or at least the embellishment of earthly 
life, the multitude rushes readily in this direction, and 
the mind becomes the servant, or rather the slave of the 
body. 

Every science, at present, which is not directly or in- 


34 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


directly subservient to some material want or enjoy- 
ment—that is, to something positive, as the saying is— 
falls into contempt and opprobrium, or is at least aban- 
doned. Philosophy furnishes a melancholy example. 
True, it has well deserved this fate by its excess and ex- 
travagance in recent times; and the same will invariably 
befall it, whenever it effects independence, and refuses 
fealty to Divine authority. It is the same with litera- 
ture, the fine arts, and whatever promotes the civiliza- 
tion of men and the triumph of the Divine principle 
made after the image of God, over the brute formed 
after the image of the world. All these noble objects 
are abandoned as useless, or of little importance to the 
wants and happiness of actual society. Religion has 
alone survived, thanks to her unchangeable teaching and 
her Divine origin, which place her above human in- 
stitutions and the vicissitudes of earth. But for the 
Rock of the Divine Word, but for the Divine founda- 
tion-stone, on which she is built, she also, under pretense 
of rendering her more useful or more positive, more 
suited to the wants and lights of the age, would have 
been lowered and materialized, then the last link which 
binds humanity to heaven would have been broken, and 
the spiritual man would have been wholly interred in 
the slough of this world, buried in sensuality. Let but 
one glance be given at what has been the fate of Re- 
ligion and its Divine authority, in some instances and a 
notion will be gained of the degradation from which Re- 
ligion still preserves the human race. She is the last 
refuge of freedom and dignity of the mind against ma- 
terial force. Everywhere else, religious instruction, 
without faith and without fixed rule, is at the mercy of 
human science, and therefore of the world’s power, 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 35 


which makes that science the instrument of its own pre- 
dominance. 

I crave forgiveness for this digression which has es- 
eaped from a heart deeply saddened at the lowering of 
our system of studies and the decline of our education, 
which will lead to a new species of barbarism in this age 
of ours. 

I return to my subject, that is, to the fund which he 
who wishes to speak in public should form within him- 
self; and I say to the young who may read me—if, in- 
deed, they will read me at all—I say, at least to those 
who may feel themselves impelled to the noble exercise 
of eloquence: ‘‘My young friends, before speaking, 
endeavor to know what you have to say, and for this, 
study—study well. Obtain by perseverance an ac- 
quaintance first with all that relates to classical learn- 
ing; and then let each labor ardently in the depart- 
ment to which his vocation urges him. Whatever you 
study, do so solidly and conscientiously. Bend your 
whole mind to the object you seek to know, and let it 
not go till you have entered into, mastered, and grasped 
it, so as to comprehend it, to conceive it within your- 
selves, to possess the full idea of it, and to be able to 
give an account of it to yourselves and others. There 
is but one time for acquirement, the time of youth. 
Bees gather in the flower season only; they afterwards 
live upon their wax and honey. In youth all the facul- 
ties are wondrously adapted to receive and retain, and 
the mind eagerly welcomes what comes from without. 
It is now that supplies should be laid in, the harvest 
gathered, and stored in the garner. Later comes the 
threshing of the sheaves, and the severing of the grain 
from the straw—the grinding, the formation of pure 


36 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


flour, the kneading of it, and the making of bread. 
But there would be neither bread, nor flour, nor grain, 
if there had been no reaping—and what can be reaped 
if the seed has not been cast, nor the ground opened 
and prepared? Sow, then, the field of your mind as 
much as possible, till it, and moisten it with your sweat, 
that the good seed may bear fruit, and use the sickle 
courageously in the heat of the day, in order to fill the 
storehouse of your understanding. Then when you 
shall have to feed a famishing people with the bread of 
eloquence, you will have in hand rich ears to beat, and 
generous grain yielding pure substance; from this sub- 
stance, kneaded in your mind with a little leaven from 
on high, imparting to it a divine fermentation, you 
may form intellectual bread full of flavor and solidity, 
which will give your audience the nourishment of mind 
and soul, even as bread gives aliment to the body.”’ 


2—TO KNOW HOW TO SPEAK, YOU MUST FIRST KNOW 
HOW TO THINK 

We now come to the acquired qualities properly so 
called, that is, to the art of thinking, and the method 
of expressing what is thought which may be learnt by 
study and formed by well-directed practice. 

Although we think by nature, yet is there an art of 
thinking which teaches us to do with greater ease and 
certainty what our nature, as rational beings, leads 
us to do spontaneously. In all that man voluntarily 
does, liberty has its own share; and lberty, which no- 
where exists without intelligence, is ever the source of 
progress and perfection. Man learns how to think as 
he learns how to speak, read, write, and sing, to move 
his body gracefully, and to use all the powers of mind 
and body. 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 37 


Logie teaches the art of thinking. The orator there- 
fore must be a good logician; not alone theoretically, 
but practically. It is not his business to know how to 
declaim about the origin and formation of ideas, nor 
about the four operations of thought. It is not the 
method of teaching, but the use of logic which he re- 
quires—and a prompt and dexterous familiarity with 
it he will not acquire except by long and repeated exer- 
cises, under the guidance of an experienced thinker, an 
artist of thought, who will teach him how to do with 
ease what he knows how to do already of himself im- 
perfectly. 

We, in this point of view, somewhat regret the disuse 
of the old syllogistic method of the schools; for we are 
convinced that, properly applied and seriously directed, 
it gives quickness, subtilty, clearness, and something 
sure and firm to the mind, rarely found in the thinkers 
of the present day. The fault formerly, perhaps, was in 
the excessiveness of the dialectical turn, and frequently 
the style became spoilt by dryness, heaviness, and an 
appearance of pedantry. Still, men knew how to state 
a question, and how to treat it: they knew at which end 
to begin it in order to develop and solve it; and the line 
of the argument, distinctly marked out, led straight to 
the object and to a conclusion. The fault now-a-days 
is in an absence or deficiency of method. People re- 
main a long time before their subject without knowing 
how to begin it, even though they rightly understand 
its very terms. This superinduces interminable prepa- 
rations, desultory introductions, a confused exposition, 
a disorderly development, and finally no conclusion, or 
at least nothing decisive. There are really few men in 
our day who know how to think, that is, how to lay 
down and develop a subject in such a way as to instruct 


38 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


and interest those who read them or listen to them. 
A horror is everywhere felt for rules or for what imposes 
constraint, and, as nearly all the barriers have been re- 
moved which supported and protected human activity 
by obliging it to exert itself within fixed lines, liberty 
has become disorder, men swerve from the track in order 
to walk at their ease; and, far from gaining by it, they 
lose great part of their time and their strength in seek- 
ing a path which would have been shown them from the 
outset had they chosen to accept of discipline, and to 
allow themselves to be guided. In order to think in 
their own fashion, or be original, they think at random, 
just as ideas happen to come, if any come; and the up- 
shot, for the most part, is vagueness, oddity, and con- 
fusion. This is the era of the vague and the almost. 
Everybody wants to speak of everything, as everybody 
wants to interfere in everything; and the result is that 
amidst this flood of thoughts, this overflow of divergent 
or irreconcilable words and actions, the minds of men, 
tossed to and fro, float uncertain, without a notion where 
they are going, just as the wind blows or the current 
drives. 

I would have, then, persons who are intended for 
public speaking, follow a course of logic, rather prac- 
tical than theoretic, in which the mind should be vigor- 
ously trained to the division and combination of ideas 
upon interesting and instructive topics. These exer- 
cises should be written or oral. Sometimes it should 
be a dissertation on a point of literature, morals, or 
history; and a habit should be acquired of composing 
with order and method, by pointing out, in proportion 
as the student proceeded, the several parts of the dis- 
course, the steps of the development, and means of proof 
—in a word, whatever serves to treat a subject suitably. 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 39 


Sometimes it should be a discussion between several de- 
baters, with the whole apparatus and strict rules of a 
dialectic argument, under the master’s direction; the 
disputants should not be allowed to proceed or conclude 
without reducing their thoughts to the forms of syl- 
logistic reasoning—a process which entails some length- 
iness, and even heaviness upon the discourse, but it gives 
greater clearness, order, and certainty. At other times, 
the debate might be extemporaneous, and then, in the un- 
foreseen character of the discussion and in all the sparks 
of intelligence which it strikes forth, will be seen the 
minds which are distinguished, the minds that know how 
to take possession of an idea at once, enter into it, divide, 
and expound it. There should, for every position or 
thesis, be the counter-position or antithesis, and some one 
to maintain it; for in every subject there are reasons for 
and against. Thus would the student learn to look at 
things in various lights, and not to allow himself to be 
absorbed by one point of view, or by a preconceived opin- 
ion. But these gymnastics of thinking ought to be led 
by an intelligent master, who suffers not himself to be 
swayed by forms or enslaved by routine. Real thinking 
must be effected under all these forms of disputation and 
argument, but the letter must not kill the spirit, as fre- 
quently was the case in the schools of antiquity. For 
then it would no longer be anything but an affair of 
memory, and the life of intelligence would die away. I 
am convinced—and I have made the experiment for a 
length of years in the Faculty of Strasbourg, where I 
had established those exercises, which proved exceedingly 
useful—I am convinced that young men, who thus occu- 
pied themselves during a year or two in turning over 
and handling a variety of questions, in stirring up a 
multiplicity of ideas, and who should, with a view to 


40 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


this, write and speak a great deal, always with order, 
with method, and under good guidance, would become 
able thinkers; and, if endowed with high intelligence, 
would become men mighty in word or in deed, or in both 
together, according to their capacity, character and na- 
ture. 


3—THAT GOOD SPEAKING MAY BE LEARNED, AND HOW 


However, it is not enough to think methodically, in 
order to speak well, although. this be a great step to- 
wards it; to express or say what is thought is also neces- 
sary; in other words, form must be added to the sub- 
stance. 

We must learn then how to speak as well as how to 
think well. 

Here, again, practice surpasses theory, and daily exer- 
cise is worth more than precepts. Rhetoric teaches the 
art of language; that is, of speaking or writing ele- 
gantly, while grammar shows how to do so with correct- 
ness. It is clear that before anything else, the rules of 
language must be known and observed; but correctness 
gives neither elegance nor grace, which are the most 
requisite qualities of the orator. How are they then to be 
acquired ? 

In the first place there is what cannot be acquired—a 
natural fund, which nature alone can give. Women are 
remarkable for it. The gracefulness with which nature 
has endowed them, diffuses itself generally into their 
language; and some speak, and even write, admirably, 
without any study; under the sole inspiration of feeling 
or passion. Credit, indeed, must be given to the medium 
in which they are placed, and the society in which they 
live, constituting a moral atmosphere in which their 
very impressionable and open minds—unless willfully 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 41 


closed—absorb all influences with avidity, and receive 
a kind of spontaneous culture and education. As plants, 
which bear in their germs the hidden treasures of the 
most brilliant and odoriferous flowers, inhale from the 
ground where they are fixed, and the air which encom- 
passes them, the coarsest juices and the subtilest fluids, 
which they marvelously transform by assimilation; so 
these delicate souls absorb into themselves all they come 
in contact with, all that impresses or nourishes them; 
which they manifest by a soft radiation, by a graceful 
efflorescence in their movements, actions, words, and 
whatever emanates from their persons. 

Women naturally speak better than men. They ex- 
press themselves more easily, more vividly; with more 
arch simplicity, because they feel more rapidly and more 
delicately. Hence the loquacity with which they are re- 
proached, and which is an effect of their constitution and 
temperament. Hence there are so many women who 
write in an admirable and remarkable manner, although 
they have studied neither rhetoric nor logic, and even 
without knowing grammar or orthography. They write 
as they speak; they speak pretty much as the birds sing 
—and their language has the same charm. Add to this 
the sweetness of their organ, the flexibility of their voice, 
the variety of their intonations, according to the feeling 
which animates them; the mobility of their physiognomy, 
which greatly increases the effect of words, the pic- 
turesqueness of their gestures, and in short the grace- 
fulness of their whole exterior: thus, although not des- 
tined for orators by their sex or social position, they have 
all the power of the orator, and all his success, in their 
sphere, and in the circle of their activity. For none bet- 
ter know how to touch, persuade, and influence, which, I 
think, is the end and the perfection of eloquence. 


42 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


Men, then, who wish to acquire the art of speaking, 
must learn by study what most women do naturally ; and 
in this respect those whose temperament most approaches 
the feminine, in greater sensibility, and livelier impres- 
sionableness, will have less difficulty than others, and 
will succeed better. 

However, as the man who speaks in public has to ex- 
press loftier ideas, general notions, and deeper or more 
extensive combinations, which imply depth—penetration 
of mind, and reflective power—qualities very scarce 
among women—he will never be able to expound these 
subjects, the result of abstraction and meditation, with 
grace of feeling and easiness of language spontaneously, 
and by nature. Here art must supply what nature re- 
fuses; by diligent labor, by exercises multiplied without 
end, the diction must be rendered pliable, the speech 
disciplined, and broken in, that it may become an amen- 
able instrument which, obedient to the least touch of the 
will, and lightest challenge of thought, will furnish in- 
stantly a copious style, seeming to flow spontaneously, 
the result nevertheless of the subtilest art; like fountains 
which, with great cost and magnificence, carry the waters 
of our rivers into our squares, yet appear to pour forth 
naturally. Thus the words of the orator, by dint of toil 
and of art, and this even on the most abstract subjects, 
ought to attain a limpid and an easy flow, with which he 
hardly troubles himself, but to which his attention is all 
the time directed, in order to bring to light the ideas in 
his mind, the images in his fancy, and the emotions of 
his heart. 

Such is the talent to be acquired! Ft fabricando 
faber, says the adage; and it is the same with the jour- 
neyman of words, and forger of eloquence. The iron 
must be often beaten, especially while it is hot, to give it 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 43 


shape; so must we continually hammer language to be- 
come masters of it, and to fashion it, if we would be- 
come capable of speaking in public. It is not enough to 
learn the rules of style, the tropes and figures of rhetoric ; 
the use and proper application of them must be known; 
and this cannot be learned except by much speaking and 
much writing under the direction of an able master, 
who knows how to write and speak himself; for in this 
both precept and example are necessary, and example is 
better than precept. 

He who has a capacity for public speaking will learn it 
best by listening to those who know how to speak well, 
and he will make more progress by striving to imitate 
them than by all their instructions: as the young birds, 
on their first attempts to quit the parent nest, try at first 
their unskillful flight in the track of their parents, guided 
and sustained by their wiugs, and venture not except 
with eyes fixed on them, so a youth, who is learning how 
to become a writer, follows his master with confidence 
while imitating him, and in his first essays cleaves 
timidly at his heels, daring in the beginning to go only 
where he is led, but every day tries to proceed a little 
farther, drawn on, and, as it were, carried by his guide. 
It is a great blessing to have an able man for a master. 
It is worth more than all books; for it is a living book, 
imparting life at the same moment as instruction. It is 
one torch kindling another. Then an inestimable advan- 
tage is gained, for, to the authority of the master, which 
youth is always more or less prone to dispute, is added 
the authority of talent which invariably prevails. He 
gladly receives the advice and guidance of the man 
whose superiority he recognizes. This much is needed 
to quell the pride of youth, and cast down, or at least 
abate, its presumption and self-confidence. It willingly 


44 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


listens to the master it admires, and feels happy in his 
society. 

I had this happiness, and I have always been deeply 
grateful to the Almighty who procured it for me, and 
to the illustrious man who was the instrument of His 
beneficence. For nearly four years, at the Lyceum of 
Charlemagne and the Ecole Normale, I profited daily 
by the lessons and example of Monsieur VILLEMAIN, then 
almost as young as his pupils; and, if I know any- 
thing of the art of speaking and writing, I say it before 
the world, to him, after God, I owe it. 


4—THAT TO SPEAK WELL IN PUBLIC, ONE MUST FIRST 
KNOW HOW TO WRITE 


You will never be capable of speaking properly in 
public, unless you acquire such mastery of your own 
thought as to be able to decompose it into its parts, to 
analyze it into its elements, and then at need, to recom- 
pose, regather, and concentrate it again by a synthetical 
process. Now this analysis of the idea, which displays 
it, as it were, before the eyes of the mind, is well exe- 
cuted only by writing. The pen is the scalpel which dis- 
sects the thoughts, and never, except when you write 
down what you behold internally, can you succeed in 
clearly discerning all that is contained in a conception, 
or in obtaining its well-marked scope. You then under- 
stand yourself, and make others understand you. 

You should therefore begin by learning to write, in 
order to give yourself a right account of your own 
thoughts, before you venture yourself to speak. They 
who have not learned this first, speak in general badly 
and with difficulty ; unless, indeed, they have that fatal 
facility, a thousand times worse than hesitation or than 
silence, which drowns thought in floods of words, or in a 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 45 


torrent of copiousness, sweeping away good earth, and 
leaving behind sand and stones alone. Heaven keep us 
from those interminable talkers, such as are often to 
be found in southern countries, who deluge you, rela- 
tively to anything and to nothing, with a shower of dis- 
sertation and a downpouring of their eloquence! Dur- 
ing nine-tenths of the time there is not one rational 
thought in the whole of this twaddle, carrying along in 
its course every kind of rubbish and platitude. The 
class of persons who produce a speech so easily, and who 
are ready at the shortest moment to extemporize a speech, 
a dissertation, or a homily, know not how to compose a 
tolerable sentence; and I repeat that, with such ex- 
ceptions as defy all rule, he who has not learnt how to 
write will never know how to speak. 

To learn to write, one must write a great deal in imi- 
- tation of those who know how, and under their guidance, 
just as one learns to draw or paint from good models, 
and by means of wise instruction. It is a school process, 
or a workshop process, if the phrase be preferred, and 
to a great extent mechanical and literal, but indispen- 
sable to the student of letters. Thus the musician must 
tutor his fingers to pliancy, in order to execute easily 
and instantaneously all the movements necessary for the 
quick production of sounds, depending on the structure 
of his instrument. Thus, likewise, the singer must be- 
come master of all the movements of his throat, and must 
long and unremittingly practice vocal exercises, until 
the will experiences no difficulty in determining those 
contractions and expansions of the windpipe which 
modify and inflect the voice in every degree and frac- 
tion of its scale. 

In the same manner, the future orator must, by long 
study and repeated compositions of a finished kind, 


46 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


handle and turn all expressions of language, various con- 
structions of sentences, and endless combinations of 
words, until they have become supple and well-trained 
instruments of the mind, giving him no longer any 
trouble while actually speaking, and accommodating 
themselves unresistingly to the slightest guidance of his 
thought. 

With inverted languages, in which the sentence may 
assume several arrangements, this is more easy, for you 
have more than one way to express the same thought; 
and thus there are more chances of expressing yourself, 
if not better, at least more conveniently. But in our 
language,? whose principal merit is clearness, and whose 
path is always the straightest, that is, the most logical 
possible—a quality which constitutes its value, for, after 
all, speech is made to convey our thoughts—it is more 
difficult to speak well, and especially to extemporize, be- 
cause there is but one manner of constructing the sen- 
tence, and if you have the misfortune of missing, at the 
outset, this direct and single way, you are involved in a 
by-path without any outlets, and can emerge from it 
only by breaking throngh the enclosures or escaping 
across country. You are then astray, or lost in a quick- 
sand—a painful result for all concerned, both for him 
who speaks, and for those who listen. 

It is therefore indispensable to acquire the perfect 
mastery of your instrument, if you wish so to play upon 
it in public as to give pleasure to others, and avoid bring- 
ing confusion upon yourself. As the violinist commands 
with the touch every part of the string, and his fingers 
alight on the exact point in order to produce the re- 


1The English language holds, in this respect, a middle place 
between the French and the two great all-capable tongues of 
classic antiquity. 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 47 


quired sound, so the mind of the orator ought to alight 
precisely on the right word, corresponding to each part 
of the thought, and to seize on the most suitable ar- 
rangement of words, in order to exhibit the development 
of its parts with due regard to each sentence as well as to 
the whole discourse. An admirable and prodigious task 
in the quickness and certitude of the discernment is exe- 
cuted at the moment of extemporizing, and in the taste 
and the tact which it implies. And here especially are 
manifested the truth and use of our old literary studies 
and of the method which, up to our own day, has been 
constantly employed, but now apparently despised, or 
neglected, to the great injury of logic and eloquence. 
The end of that method is to stimulate and bring out 
the intelligence of youth by the incessant decomposi- 
tion and recomposition of speech—in other words, by 
_ the continual exercise of both analysis and synthesis; 
and that the exercise in question may be the more closely 
reasoned and more profitable, it is based simultaneously 
on two languages studied together, the one ancient and 
dead, and not therefore to be learnt by rote, the other 
living and as analogous as possible to the first. The 
student is then made to account to himself for all the 
words of both, and for their bearings in particular sen- 
tences, in order to establish the closest parallel between 
them, the most exact equiponderance, and so to repro- 
duce with all attainable fidelity the idea of one language 
in the other. Hence what are termed themes and ver- 
sions—the despair of idle school-boys, indeed, but very 
serviceable in forming and perfecting the natural logic 
of the mind, which, if carefully pursued for several years 
is the best way of teaching the unpracticed and tender 
reason of youth all the operations of thought—a faculty 
which, after all, keeps pace with words, and can work 


48 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


and manifest itself only by means of the signs of lan- 
guage. 

The superficial or positive philosopher imagines that 
the object of this protracted trial, which occupies the 
finest years of youth, is to learn Latin or Greek, and 
then exclaims that the result is not worth either the 
trouble or the time which it costs, and that, comparing 
one language with another, it would be more profitable 
to teach children modern and spoken tongues which 
might hereafter be of use to them in life. Such persons 
would be quite right if this were the only end in view; 
for doubtless, French or German would be more service- 
able for travel, trade, or anything of that nature. 

But there is another object which these persons do not 
see, although it is the main object: which is to teach 
thinking to individuals who are destined to work in 
social life by their thought—to fashion laborers of the 
mind to the functions of intelligence, as an apprentice or 
handicraftsman is fashioned to material functions and 
bodily toil. As these last are taught to use their tools, 
and therefore to know them thoroughly and handle them 
skillfully, in ike manner the former must also learn per- 
fectly the implements of their calling, and tools of their 
craft, in order to use them ably on all possible occasions. 
Now the necessary instrument—thought’s indispensable 
tool—is language; and therefore, although people speak 
naturally and almost without any teaching, merely 
through living together, yet if a person wish to become 
an able workman of speech, and consequently of thought, 
as if he sought to be an able locksmith or a skillful mason, 
he must get instruction in the processes of art, and be 
initiated in the rules and methods which make it easier 
and more efficient. 

This is obtained by the study of languages which is 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 49 


the object of classical pursuits. From the elementary 
class to the ‘‘humanities,’’ it is one course of logic by 
means of comparative grammar—and it is the only logic 
of which youth is capable. It is the easiest training of 
thought by and through words, its material signs. A 
youth is thus taught for several years to learn the con- 
nections of ideas by the relations of words, which he is 
continually fashioning and re-fashioning; and while 
learning to form sentences, ever with a thought in view, 
the details of which he must explain and convey, he be- 
comes used to analysis and combination, and executes, in 
the humble functions of grammar, a prelude to the high- 
est operations of science, which, after all, are but the de- 
composition and marshaling of ideas. 

Who does not at once see what facility the mind ac- 
quires by this perpetual comparison of the terms and 
idioms of two languages, which must be made to fit each 
other, and to what a degree thought becomes refined and 
subtile, in the presence of some idea which has to be ex- 
pressed? The phrases of two languages are measured 
and weighed incessantly; they are compared, each with 
each, and each with the idea, to ascertain which will ren- 
der it best. 

The efforts are not useless which are made by these 
youthful minds who thus, day after day, wrestle with the 
thoughts of the most illustrious writers of antiquity, in 
order to understand and translate them. How great a 
privilege to commune daily with the exalted reason, the 
noble ideas, and the splendid diction of those great and 
noble minds! How great the advantage derived from 
such an intercourse, and how great the intellectual gain 
in such a company, and daily familiarity! Then what a 
pleasure to have found an equivalent term, and to have 
transferred into one’s own language, with the same 


50 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


vigor or the same delicacy, what some famous author 
has said in his! What profit in this concussion of 
idioms, from which the spark of ideas is so often stricken 
forth—this strife, unequal indeed, yet replete with a 
noble emulation, between a youth, trying the nascent 
strength of his thoughts, and some master mind whose 
works enlighten and guide humanity! And finally, what 
more particularly concerns our subject, what facility of 
expression, what aptitude for extemporaneous speaking, 
must not accrue from this habit, contracted from child- 
hood, of handling and turning a sentence in every direc- 
tion, until the most perfect form be found, of combin- 
ing its terms in all ways, in order to arrive at the ar- 
rangement best fitted for the manifestation of the 
thought, of polishing each member of it by effacing as- 
perities and smoothing crevices, of balancing one sen- 
tence against another, in order to give the whole oneness, 
measure, harmony, and a sort of music, rendering it as 
agreeable to the ear when spoken as it is luminous to the 
mind by which it is meditated. 

No; in no other way can the artist of words be ever 
formed; and if a different method be attempted, as is 
somewhat signified at present, you will have, not artists, 
but handicraftsmen. Means should always be propor- 
tioned to ends. If you want orators, you must teach 
them how to speak, and you will not teach them other- 
wise than they have been taught heretofore. All our 
(French) great orators of the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries have been formed in this manner, and I am 
not aware that there have ever been greater writers in 
the world, or that the glory of France in this particular 
has been excelled. Let this splendor of civilization, this 
blooming forth of the mind in poetry, literature, and elo- 
quence, which have always been the brightest crown and 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 51 


most beautiful garland of humanity on earth, be once 
abandoned, in favor of conquest, and of the riches pro- 
duced by industry and commerce—which are much to be 
admired, no doubt, but, after all, minister more to body 
than to soul—be it so; we shall perhaps become more 
learned in material things, and certainly more wealthy ; 
we shall have more ways of winning money and of 
losing it, more ways of enjoying earthly life, and there- 
fore of wearing out, and perchance of degrading it: but 
shall we be the happier? This is not certain. Shall we 
be the better ?—less certain still; but what is certain is, 
that the hfe of human society or civilization, however 
gilt, will be less beautiful, less noble, and less glorious. 
There is another practice which strikingly conduces to- 
wards facilitating expression and towards perfecting 
its form; we mean the learning by heart of the finest 
passages in great writers, and especially in the most 
musical poets, so as to be able to recite them at a single 
effort, at moments of leisure, during a solitary walk for 
instance, when the mind so readily wanders. This prac- 
tice, adopted in all schools, is particularly advantageous 
in rhetoric, and during the bright years of youth. At 
that age it is easy and agreeable, and he who aspires to 
the art of speaking ought never to neglect it. Besides 
furnishing the mind with all manner of fine thoughts, 
well expressed and well linked together, and thus nour- 
ishing, developing, and enriching it, it has the additional 
advantage of filling the understanding with graceful 
images, of forming the ear to the rhythm and number of 
the period, and of obtaining a sense of the harmony of 
speech, which is not without its own kind of music; for 
ideas, and even such as are the most abstract, enter the 
mind more readily, and sink into it more deeply, when 
presented in a pleasing fashion. By dint of reading the 


02 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


beautiful lines of Corneille and Racine, Bossuet’s ma- 
jestic and pregnant sentences, the harmonious and 
cadenced compositions of Fénélon and Massillon, one 
gradually and without effort acquires a language ap- 
proaching theirs, and imitates them instinctively through 
the natural attraction of the beautiful, and the pro- 
pensity to reproduce whatever pleases; and at last, by 
repeating this exercise daily for years, one attains a re- 
fined taste of the delicacies of language and the shades of 
style, just as a palate accustomed to the flavor of the 
most exquisite viands can no longer endure the coarser. 
But what is only a disadvantage in bodily taste, at least 
under certain circumstances, is always beneficial to the 
literary taste, which should seek its nutriment, like the 
bee, in the most aromatic portions of the flower, in order 
to combine them into delicious and perfumed honey. 

By this process is prepared, moreover, in the imagin- 
ative part of the understanding, a sort of capacity for 
the oratorical form, for the shaping of sentences, which I 
cannot liken to anything better than to a mold ecare- 
fully prepared, and traced with delicate lines and varied 
patterns, into which the stream of thought, flowing full 
of life and ardor from a glowing mind in the fire 
of declamation or composition, becomes fixed even while 
it is being cast, as metal in a state of fusion becomes in- 
stantaneously a beautiful statue. Thus the oratorical 
diction should be cast, all of one piece, by a single throw 
in order to exhibit a beautiful and a living unity. But 
for this a beautiful mold is indispensable, and the young 
orator, who must have further received from nature the 
artistic power, cannot form within him that mold save 
with the assistance of the great masters and by imitating 
them. Genius alone is an exception to this rule, and 
genius is rare. 


ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 53 


The best rhetorical professors, those who are veritably 
artists of speech, and seek to fashion others to their own 
likeness, recommend and adopt this exercise largely; it 
is irksome to the indolent, but it amply indemnifies the 
toil which it exacts by the fruits which it brings. There 
is, besides, a way of alleviating the trouble of it, and that 
is, to read and learn select pages of our great authors, 
while strolling under the shades of a garden or through 
some rich country, when nature is in all her brilliancy. 
You may then recite them aloud in such beautiful 
scenery, the impressions of which deliciously blend with 
those of eloquence and song. Every young man of any 
talent or literary taste has made the experiment. Dur- 
ing the spring time of life, there is a singular charm for 
us in the spring time of nature; and the redundance of 
fresh life in a youthful soul trying its own powers in 
thought, in painting, or in poesy, is marvelously and in- 
stinctively wooed into sympathy with that glorious life 
of the world around, whose fertilizing virtue evokes his 
genius, while it enchants his senses by the subtilest emo- 
tions, and enriches his imagination with varied pictures 
and brilliant hues. 

Moreover—and this is a privilege of youth, which has 
its advantages as well as its inconveniences—poetry and 
eloquence are never better relished, that is, never with 
greater delight and love, than at this age, in the dawn 
of the soul’s life, amidst the first fruits of the imagina- 
tion and the heart’s innocence, in the opening splendors 
of the ideal, which seems to the understanding as a rising 
sun, tinging and illumining all things with its radiant 
fires. The beauty that is understood and that which is 
merely sensible wondrously harmonize; they give each 
other enchantment and relief; or, to speak more truly, 
material beauty is appreciated only through the reflected 


54 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND 


light of mental beauty, and as the rays emitted by an 
idea illuminate and transfigure nature’s forms and na- 
ture’s life—so nature, on the other hand, while it lov- 
ingly receives the luster of some heavenly thought, re- 
fracts it gloriously in its prisms, and multiplies, while re- 
flecting its beams. 

All this the youthful orator, or he who has the power 
to become one, will feel and experience, each person 
according to his nature and his character, as he awakens 
the echoes of some beautiful scene with the finest accents 
of human eloquence or poetry. While impressing these 
more deeply in his memory, by help of the spots wherein 
he learns them, which will add to and thereafter facili- 
tate his recollections, he will imbibe unconsciously a two- 
fold life, the purest and sublimest life of humanity, and 
that great life of nature which is the thought of the Al- 
mighty diffused throughout creation. These two great 
lives, that of man and that of nature, which spring from 
the same source, and thither return, blended without 
being confounded within him, animating and nourishing 
his own life, the life of his mind and of his soul, will yet 
draw forth from his bosom, from his poet’s or orator’s 
heart, a stream of eloquence or of song which will run an 
imperishable course. 


CHAPTER IV 


PHYSICAL QUALITIES OF THE ORATOR, NATURAL AND 
ACQUIRED 


Ir is not enough for the orator to have ideas and to 
know how to express them, imparting the most graceful 
turn to his diction, and pouring forth copious words into 
the form of a musical and sonorous period; he must fur- 
ther know how to articulate his speech, how to pronounce 
and deliver his discourse. He must have propriety of 
voice and gesture, or the oratorical action—a, thing of im- 
mense importance to the success of eloquence, in which 
nature, as in everything, has a considerable share, but 
art may play a great part. Here, then, also is to be de- 
veloped a natural predisposition, and a certain skill is to 
be acquired. 


1—THE VOICE 


The voice, including all the organs which serve to pro- 
duce or modify it, is the speaker’s chief instrument; and 
its quality essentially depends, in the first instance, upon 
the formation of the chest, the throat, and mouth. Art 
can do little to ameliorate this formation, but it can do 
much to facilitate and strengthen the organic movements 
in all that regards breathing, the emission of sound, and 
pronunciation. These matters ought to be the object of a 
special duty. 

It is very important, in speaking as in singing, to 
know how to send forth and how to husband the breath, 

55 


56 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 


so as to spin lengthened sounds and deliver a complete 
period, without being blown, and without breaking a 
sentence already begun, or a rush of declamation by a 
gasp—needful, indeed, for lungs that have failed, but 
making a sort of disagreeable gap or stoppage. 

Care should also be taken not to speak too fast, too 
loud, or with too much animation at the outset; for if 
you force your voice in the beginning you are presently 
out of breath, or your voice is cracked or hoarse, and 
then you can no longer proceed without repeated efforts 
which fatigue the hearers and exhaust the speaker. All 
these precautions, which appear trivial, but which are 
really of high importance, are learned by labor, prac- 
tice, and personal experience. Still it is a very good 
thing to be warned and guided by the experience of 
others, and this may be ensured advantageously by, fre- 
quent recitations aloud under the direction of some 
master of elocution. 

Enough stress is not laid on these things, if, indeed, 
they are attended to at all, in the schools of rhetoric, in 
literary establishments, and in seminaries—wherein ora- 
tors, nevertheless, are expected to be formed. Scarce any 
but actors now-a-days trouble themselves about them, 
and that is the reason we have so few men in the liberal 
professions who know how to speak, or even to read or 
recite a discourse rightly. 

On this point the ancients had a great advantage 
over us; they attached far more importance than we do 
to oratorical action, as we see in the treatises of Cicero 
and Quintilian. It was with them one half of eloquence 
at the least; and it is said that Demosthenes made it the 
orator’s chief quality. They, perhaps, went too far in 
this respect; and it came, doubtless, of their having to 
speak before the multitude, whose senses must be struck, 


PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 57 


whose passions must be excited, and on whom power and 
brilliancy of voice have immense effect. As for us, we 
fall into the contrary extreme, and frequently our or- 
ators, even those most distinguished in point of style, do 
not know how to speak their speeches. We are so unused 
to beauty of form and nobility of air, that we are amazed 
when we meet them. ‘There is a certain orator of our 
day who owes his success and reputation merely to these 
advantages. On the other hand, these alone are too lit- 
tle; we miss much when a fine elocution and an elegant 
or splendid delivery carry off commonplace thoughts 
and expressions, more full of sound than of sense. 
This is quickly perceived in the perusal of those 
harangues which produced so great an effect when de- 
livered, and in which scarcely any of the emotions expe- 
rienced in listening to them is recovered after they have 
once been fixed warm, as it were, on paper by the re- 
porter’s art. The spell of the oratorical action is gone 
from them. 

The modulation of the voice proceeds principally from 
the larynx, which produces and modifies it, almost with- 
out limit, by expansion and contraction. First, then, 
we have the formation of the larynx, with its muscles, 
cartilages, membranes, and tracery, which are to the 
emission of vocal sound what the involutions of the brain 
probably are, instrumentally, in the operations of 
thought. But, in the one case as in the other, the con- 
nection of the organs with the effects produced entirely 
escapes us; and although we are continually availing our- 
selves of the instrument, we do not perceive in any man- 
ner the how of its ministrations. It is only by use, and 
experiments often repeated, that we learn to employ them 
with greater ease and power, and our skill in this respect 
is wholly empirical. The researches of the subtilest 


58 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 


anatomy have given us no discovery in the matter. All 
that we have ascertained is, that every voice has its nat- 
ural bell-tone, which makes it a bass voice, a tenor, or a 
soprano, each with intermediate gradations. The middle 
voice, or tenor, is the most favorable for speaking; it is 
that which maintains itself the best, and which reaches 
the farthest when well articulated. It is also the most 
pleasing, the most endearing, and has the largest re- 
sources for inflection, because, being in the middle of the 
scale, it rises or sinks with greater ease, and leans itself 
better to either hand. It therefore commands a greater 
variety of intonations, which hinders monotony of elocu- 
tion, and reawakens the attention of the hearer, so prone 
to doze. 

The upper voice, exceedingly clear at first, is continu- 
ally tending towards a scream. It harshens as it pro- 
ceeds, and at last becomes falsetto and nasal. It re- 
quires great talent, great liveliness of thought, language, 
and elocution to compensate or redeem this blemish. 
One of the most distinguished orators of our time is an 
example in point. He used to succeed in obtaining a 
hearing for several hours together, in spite of his lank 
and creaking voice—a real victory of mind over matter. 

A bass voice is with difficulty pitched high, and con- 
tinually tends back. Grave and majestic at the outset, 
it soon grows heavy and monotonous; it has magnificent 
chords, but, if long listened to, produces frequently the 
effect of a drone, and soon tires and lulls to sleep by the 
medley of commingling sounds. What, then, if it be 
coarse, violent, uttered with bursts? Why, it crushes 
the ear, if it thunders in too confined an apartment; and 
if it breaks forth amidst some vast nave, where echoes al- 
most always exist, the billows of sound reverberating 
from every side blend together, should the orator be 


PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 59 


speaking fast, and the result is a deafening confusion, 
and a sort of acoustic chaos. 

It is an advantage, then, to a speaker to have a middle 
voice, since he has the greater play for expression in its 
more numerous inflections. It is easy to understand 
how, by constant practice, by frequent and intelligent 
recitations under able guidance, a person may become 
master of these inflections, may produce them at will, 
and raise and lower his voice in speaking as in singing, 
either gradually or abruptly, from tone to tone, up to 
the very highest, according to the feeling, the thought, or 
the emotions of the mind. Between the acts of the 
mental life and those of the organs which are subservient 
to them there is a natural correspondence and an inborn 
analogy, by virtue of the human constitution, which con- 
sists of a soul in union with a body; and, for this reason, 
- all the impressions, agitations, shudderings, and throb- 
bings of the heart, when it is stirred by the affections and 
the passions, no less than the subtilest acts, the nimblest 
operations of the intelligence—in a word, all the modi- 
fications of the moral life should find a tone, an accent 
in the voice, as well as a sign in language, an accord, a 
parallel, in the physical life, and in its means of expres- 
sion. 

In all cases, whatever be the tone of the voice, bass, 
tenor, or soprano—what most wins upon the hearers, 
what best seizes and most easily retains their attention, 
is what may be called a sympathetic voice. It is difficult 
enough to say in what it consists; but what very clearly 
characterizes it is the gift of causing itself to be attended 
to. It is a certain power of attraction which draws to it 
the hearer’s mind, and on its accents hangs his attention. 
It is a secret virtue which is in speech, and which pene- 
trates at once, or little by little, through the ear to the 


60 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 


mind or into the heart of those who listen, charms them, 
and holds them beneath the charm to such a degree that 
they are disposed, not only to listen, but even to admit 
what is said, and to receive it with confidence. It is a 
voice which inspires an affection for him who speaks, 
and puts you instinctively on his side, so that his words 
find an echo in the mind, repeating there what he says, 
and reproducing it easily in the understanding and the 
heart. 

A sympathetic voice singularly helps the effect of the 
discourse, and is, besides, the best, the most insinuating 
of exordiums (introductions). I know an orator who 
has, among other qualities, this in his favor, and who, 
every time he mounts the pulpit, produces invariably a 
profound sensation by his apostolic countenance, and by 
the very first sounds of his voice. 

Whence comes, above all others, this quality which can 
hardly be acquired by art? First, certainly from the 
natural constitution of the vocal organ, as in singing; 
but, next to this, the soul may contribute much towards 
it by the feelings and thoughts which actuate it, and by 
the efforts which it makes to express what is felt, and to 
convey it to others. There is something sympathetic in 
the lively and sincere manifestation of any affection; and 
when the hearer sees that the speaker is really moved, 
the motion gains him by a sort of contagion, and he be- 
gins to feel with him and like him, as two chords vi- 
brating in unison. Or, again, if a truth be unfolded to 
him with clearness, in good order, and fervently, and if 
the speaker shows that he understands or feels what he 
says, the hearer, all at once enlightened and sharing in 
the same light, acquiesces willingly, and receives the 
words addressed to him with pleasure. In such cases 
the power of conviction animates, enlivens, and transfig- 


PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 61 


ures the voice, rendering it agreeable and effective by 
virtue of the expression, just as a lofty soul or a great 
mind exalts and embellishes an ordinary and even an 
ugly countenance. 

The best way in which an orator can impart to his 
voice the sympathetic power, even when he may happen 
not to have it naturally, is to express vividly whatever he 
says, and consequently to feel it well himself, in order to 
make others feel it. Above all, the way is, to have great 
benevolence, great charity in the heart, and to love to put 
them in practice, for nothing gives more of sympathy to 
the voice than real goodness. 

Here the precepts of art are useless. We cannot teach 
emotion, nor quick feelings, nor the habit of throwing 
ardor and transport into word and action; it is the 
pectus (heart) which accomplishes all this, and it is the 
- pectus also which makes the orator—Pectus est quod 
disertum facit. For which reason, while we admit the 
great efficacy of art and precept in rendering the voice 
supple, in disciplining it, in making it obedient, ready, 
capable of traversing all the degrees of inflection, and 
producing each tone; and while we recommend those who 
desire to speak in public to devote themselves to this pre- 
liminary study for the formation of their instrument, 
like some skillful singer or practiced actor, we must still 
remind them that the best prepared instrument remains 
powerless and dead unless there be a soul to animate it; 
and that even without any culture, without preparation, 
without this gymnastic process, or this training of the 
vocal organs, whoever is impelled to speak by feeling, by 
passion, or by conviction, will find spontaneously the 
tone, the inflections, and all the modifications of voice 
which can best correspond with what he wishes to 
express. Art is useful chiefly to reciters, speakers from 


62 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 


memory, and actors, and thus, it is not to be denied, 
much effect may also be produced by the illusion of the 
natural. Still, it is after all an illusion only, a semblance 
of nature, and thus a thing of artifice; and nature itself 
will always be superior to it. 

For the same reason an extemporized address, if it be 
such as it ought to be, is more effective, and more im- 
pressive, than a recited discourse. It smacks less of art, 
and the voice vibrating and responsive to what the 
speaker feels at the momert, finds naturally the tone 
most proper, the true inflections, and genuine expression. 


2—UTTERANCE 


Utterance is a very important condition of being audi- 
ble, and consequently of being attended to. It deter- 
mines the voice, or the vowel, by the modification which 
this last receives from the consonant; it produces syl- 
lables, and by joining them together, gives the words, 
the series of which forms what is termed articulate 
language. Man being organized for speech speaks nat- 
urally the language he hears, and as he hears it. His 
instinctive and original pronunciation depends on the 
formation of the vocal organs and the manner 
in which those around him pronounce. Therefore, 
nature discharges here the chief function, but art 
may also exert a certain power either to correct or 
abate organic defects or vicious habits, or to develop and 
perfect favorable aptitudes. Demosthenes, the great- 
est orator of antiquity, whose very name continues to be 
the symbol of eloquence, is a remarkable case in point. 
Everybody is aware that by nature he had a difficulty of 
utterance almost amounting to a stammer, which he suc- 
ceeded in overcoming by frequently declaiming on the 


PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 63 


sea-shore with pebbles in his mouth. The pebbles obliged 
him to redouble his exertions to subdue the rebellious 
organ, and the noise of the surge, obliging him to speak 
more loudly and more distinctly in order to hear his own 
words, accustomed him to the still more deafening up- 
roar of the people’s mighty voice in the market-place. 

Professors of elocution lay great stress on the manner of 
utterance, and they are right. To form and ‘‘break”’ 
the organs to a distinct and agreeable utterance, much 
practice is requisite, under able tuition, and such as af- 
fords an example of what it inculcates. 

First, there is the emission of the voice—which the 
practitioner should know how to raise and lower through 
every degree within its range—and in each degree to in- 
erease or diminish, heighten or soften its power accord- 
ing to circumstances, but always so as to produce no 
sound that is false or disagreeable to the ear. 

Then comes articulation, which should be neat, clear, 
sharply cut—yet unexaggerated, or else it will become 
heavy, harsh, and hammer-like, rending the ear. 

Next to this the prosody of the language must be ob- 
served, giving its longs and its shorts; as in singing, the 
minims, semibreves, quavers, and crotchets. This im- 
parts to the sentence variety, movement, and measure. 
A written or spoken sentence admits, indeed, strictly of 
notation as well as a bar of music; and when this nota- 
tion is followed by the voice of the speaker, naturally or 
artificially, the discourse gains in expression and pleas- 
antness. 

Moreover there is accentuation, or emphasis, which 
marks the paramount tone of each sentence, and even in 
each word, the syllable on which the chief stress should 
be laid. Art may here effect somewhat, especially in the 


64 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 


enunciation of words; but as regards the emphasis of the 
sentence, it is impressed principally by the palpitation of 
the soul, thrilling with desire, feeling, or conviction. 

Finally, there is the declamatory movement, which, 
like the measure in music, should adapt itself to what is 
to be conveyed, now grave and solemn, now light, rapid, 
with a guiding rein, slackening or urging the pace, be- 
coming nervous or gentle, according to the occasion; 
bursting forth at times with the vehemence of a torrent, 
and at times flowing gently with the clearness of a 
stream, or even trickling, drop by drop, like water noise- 
lessly filtered; which, at last, fills the vessel that receives 
it, or wears out the stone on which it falls. 

In vocal speech, as in vocal music, there are an in- 
finitude of gradations; and the orator should have the 
feeling, the instinct, or the acquired habit of all these 
effects; and this implies in him a special taste and tact 
which it may develop, but can never implant. And 
thus there is need of caution here, as in many other eases, 
not to spoil nature by science, while endeavoring to per- 
fect her. School precepts may teach a manner, a certain 
mechanical skill in elocution, but can never impart the 
sacred fire which makes speech live, nor those animated, 
delicate, just feelings of an excited or impassioned soul, 
and of a mind convinced, which grasps on the instant the 
peculiarity of expression and of voice which are most 
appropriate. 

In general the masters of elocution and enunciation 
somewhat resemble M. Jourdain’s professor of philos- 
ophy, who shows him how to do with difficulty, and 
badly, what he used to do naturally and well. We all 
speak prose, and not the worst prose, from the outset. It 
is pretty nearly the same with the enunciation of a dis- 
course; and with the utterance, the accentuation, and the 


PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 65 


management of speech. The best guides in these mat- 
ters, the implied predispositions, are nature and the in- 
spiration of the moment; while example is the most 
profitable kind of teaching. He who has a turn for elo- 
quence will learn how to speak by hearing good speak- 
ing. It is orators who principally form orators. 


3—ORATORICAL ACTION 


Under this title are particularly comprised the move- 
ments of the countenance, the carriage and postures of 
the body, and above all gesticulation—three things which 
naturally accompany speech, and in an extraordinary de- 
gree augment its expressiveness. Here, again, nature 
achieves a great deal; but art also assists, especially in 
the management of the body, and in gesticulation. 

An idea may be derived of what the countenance of the 
speaker adds to his address from the instinctive want we 
experience of beholding him, even when he is already suf- 
ficiently audible. Not only all ears, but all eyes likewise 
are bent upon the speaker. The fact is that man’s face, 
and, above all, his eye, is the mirror of his soul; also, in 
the lightning of the glance, there is a flush of luster which 
illumines what is said; and on this account it was un- 
speakably to be regretted that Bourdaloue should have 
spoken with his eyes closed. One of the disadvantages 
of a recited speech is to quench, or at least to enfeeble 
and dim the brillianey of the discourse. 

Besides which the rapid contractions and dilatations 
of the facial muscles—which are each moment changing 
and renewing the physiognomy, by forming upon the 
visage a sort of picture, analogous to the speaker’s feel- 
ing, or to his thought—these signs of dismay or joy, of 
fear or hope, of affliction of heart or of calmness, of 
storm or serenity, all these causes which successively 


66 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 


plow and agitate the countenance, like a sea shaken by: 
the winds, and which impart so much movement and life 
to the physiognomy that it becomes like a second dis- 
course which doubles the force of the first—ought to be 
employed by the orator as so many means of effect, 
mighty with the crowd whom they strike and carry away. 
But it is under nature’s dictate that he will best employ 
them; and the best, the only method which it behooves 
him to follow in this respect is to grasp powerfully, and 
to conceive thoroughly, what he has to unfold or to de- 
scribe; and then to say it with all the sincerity and all 
the fervor of conviction or emotion. The face will play 
its own part spontaneously; for, as the various move- 
ments of the countenance are produced of their own ac- 
cord in the ratio of the feeling experienced, whenever 
you are really moved and under the influence of passion, 
the face naturally adapts the emotion of the words, as 
these that of the mind; and art can be of little avail 
under these circumstances. 

Let us, in truth, not forget that the orator is not an 
actor, who plays a fictitious character by putting himself 
in another’s position. He must, by dint of art, enter 
into the situation which he represents, and thus he has no 
means of becoming impressed or moved except by the 
study of his model, and the meditation of his part. He 
must, accordingly, compose his voice as well as his 
countenance, and it requires great cleverness and long 
habit to imitate by the inflections of the voice, and the 
play of the physiognomy, the true and spontaneous feel- 
ing of nature. The actor, in a word, is obliged to grim- 
ace morally as well as physically; and on this account, 
even when most successful, when most seeming to feel 
what he impersonates, as he in general feels it not, some- 


PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 67 


thing of this is perceptible; and it is the most consum- 
mate actor’s life, that, through a certain illusion of the 
imagination, his acting is never more than a grimace. 
Hence the vice, and hence the disfavor of that profession, 
notwithstanding all the talent and study which it re- 
quires; there is always something disingenuous in saying 
what you do not think, in manifesting sentiments which 
are not your own. 

The orator, on the contrary, unless he chooses to be- 
come the advocate of falsehood, is always with the truth. 
He must feel and think whatever he says, and conse- 
quently he may allow his face and his eyes to speak for 
themselves. As soon as his soul is moved, and becomes 
fervid, it will find immediate expression in his counte- 
nance and in his whole person, and the more natural and 
spontaneous is the play of his physiognomy, the more ef- 
fect it will produce. It is not the same, or not to the 
same degree, with regard to the movements of the body 
and to gesticulation. The body, indeed, and limbs of 
the speaker, animated by a soul expressing itself fervidly, 
will represent naturally to a certain degree, by their 
outward movements the inward movements of the mind. 
But the machinery, if I may so call it, is more compli- 
cated, heavier, and more cumbersome, because matter pre- 
dominates here; it is not easy to move without awkward- 
ness and elegantly the whole bulk of the body, and par- 
ticularly the arms, which are the most mobile organs, 
and those most in sight. How many have a tolerably 
good notion of speaking, and cannot move their arms and 
hands properly, or have postures of head and attitudes 
which are at once ungraceful and at variance with their 
words. It is in this department of action that speakers 
most betray their inexperience and embarrassment; and, 


68 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 


at the same time, the clumsiness or inappropriateness of 
the gestures; the puerility or affectation of the attitudes 
used are enough to spoil the best speech’s effect. 

Efforts are worth making, then, to acquire beforehand 
good habits in this respect, in order that the body, trained 
with deliberation to impulse of the words, and to adapt 
itself to their inspiration, may execute of its own accord, 
and gracefully, the most expressive movements, may it- 
self take the most appropriate attitudes, and not have 
its limbs working ineffectually or untowardly, with the 
arms motionless and tied down to the figure, or the hands 
nailed to the pulpit or the platform balustrade. An 
abrupt or jerky gesticulation is specially to be avoided, 
such as a regular swing up and down, down and up 
again, of the speaker’s arms, which gives the appearance 
of two hatchets incessantly at work. Generally speak- 
ing, moderation is better than superfluity of gesticula- 
tion. Nothing is more wearisome to the audience than a 
violent delivery without respite; and next to a monotony 
of voice, nothing more readily puts it to sleep than a ges- 
ture, forever repeated, which marks with exactness each 
part of the period, as a pendulum keeps time. 

This portion of oratorical delivery, more important 
than is supposed, greatly attended to by the ancients, 
and too much neglected by the moderns, may be acquired 
by all the exercises which form the body, by giving it 
carriage and ease, grace of countenance and motion; and 
still more by well-directed studies in elocution in what 
concerns gesture under a clever master. To this should 
be added the often-repeated study of the example of 
those speakers who are most distinguished for the quality 
in question—which is only too rare at the present day. 

But what perhaps conduces more than all this to form 
the faculty mentioned is the frequenting good company 


PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 69 


—that is, of the society, most distinguished for 
elegance of language and fine manners. Nothing can 
supply the place in this regard of a primary education 
in the midst of the most refined class. In this medium 
the youth fashions himself, as it were, of his own accord, 
by the impressions he is every moment receiving, and the 
instinctive imitation of what he sees and hears. It is the 
privilege of high society, and of what used to be called 
men of the court. There one learns to speak with cor- 
rectness and grace, almost without study, by the mere 
force of habit; and if persons of quality combined with 
this facility of elocution that science, which is to be ac- 
quired only by study, and the power of reflection, which 
is formed chiefly in solitude—and this is not very com- 
patible with the life of the great world—they would 
achieve oratorical successes more easily than other peo- 
ple. 

But they are, for the most part, deficient in acquire- 
ments—whereas learned and thinking men generally err 
in the manner. 

To sum up: over and above the store of science and of 
knowledge indispensable to the orator—who, beyond 
everything, should be acquainted with his subject—the 
predispositions most needful in the art of speaking, and 
susceptible of acquisition, are— 

1. The habit of taking thought to pieces, and putting it 

together—or analysis and synthesis. 

2. A knowledge of how to write correctly, clearly, and 
elegantly. 

3. A capacity for the handling of language at will and 
without effort, and for the sudden construction of 
sentences, without stoppages or faults. 

4. A power of ready and intelligent declamation. 

5. A neat, distinct, and emphatic utterance. 


70 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 


6. A good carriage of body. 

7. An easy, expressive, and graceful gesticulation. 

8. And, above all this, manners and an air of distine- 
tion, natural or acquired. 


PART II 


CHAPTER V 


DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT 


WE have stated all the dispositions, natural or acquired, 
which are necessary, or, at all events, most useful to the 
orator. We proceed now to set him to work, and we shall 
consider him in all the steps of his task, and the succes- 
sive processes which he has to employ, to carry it pros- 
perously to completion. 

It is perfectly understood that we make no pretense to 
the laying down of rules; our object is not to promulgate 
a theory nor a didactic treatise. We are giving a few 
recommendations derived from our own experience—and 
each person will take advantage of them as he best may, 
adopting or leaving according to his convenience what he 
chooses, and following his own bent or requirements. 

Each mind, inasmuch as it is a personality, has its 
individual character, its own life, which can never be an- 
other’s, although it resembles all of its kind. If in the 
physical world there are no two things quite alike, still 
less are there among intelligent and free creatures. 
Here, a still more wondrous variety prevails in conse- 
quence of a certain liberty which exists, and which acts 
in these different manners, though limited to certain 
general conditions of development and subject to the 
same laws. To this is due the originality of minds, which 

71 


72 DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT 


is, in the intellectual order, what responsibility is in the 
moral. 

But while fully granting this variety of action, spring- 
ing from the nature, dispositions, and circumstances of 
each person, still, after all, as we are of the same species 
and the same race, and as our mental and physical or- 
ganization is at the root the same, we must all, when in 
similar situations, act in a manner fundamentally analo- 
gous, although different as to form; and for this reason, 
indications of a general nature, the result of a long and 
laborious experience, may, within a certain measure, 
prove useful to all, or at least to many. 

This it is which encourages us to unfold the results of 
ours, giving them for what they are, without imposing 
them on anybody, in the deeply sincere desire of doing 
a service to the young generation which comes after us, 
and sparing them the rocks and mishaps of a difficult 
navigation often accomplished by us. 

To speak in public is to address several persons at 
once, an assemblage incidentally or intentionally col- 
lected, for some purpose or other. Now this may be done 
under the most diverse circumstances, and for various 
objects—and accordingly the discourse must be adapted 
both in matter and in form to these varying conditions. 
Yet are there requisites common to them all, which must 
be everywhere fulfilled, if the speaker would speak per- 
tinently, and with any chance of success. 

In fact, the end of public speaking is to win the assent 
of the hearers, to imbue them with your own econvic- 
tions, or at least to incline them to feel, to think, and to 
will according to your purpose, with reference to a given 
object. 

Hence, whenever you speak, and whatever the 
audience, there is something to be said which is indi- 


DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT 73 


eated by the circumstances; there is the way in saying it, 
or the method and plan according to which you will un- 
fold your thought; and finally there is the realization of 
this plan by the actual discourse, composed and uttered 
on the instant before those whom you would persuade. 
Thus in an extemporaneous discourse there are three 
things to be considered :— 

1. The subject being supplied by the circumstances, 
there is the preparation of the plan or the organization 
of the discourse, by means of which you take possession 
of your subject. 

2. The transcript of impression of this plan (originally 
fixed on paper by the pen) in the head of the speaker, 
wherein it should be written in a living fashion. 

3. The discourse itself, or the successive and, as far as 
possible, complete spoken realization of the plan pre- 
pared. 

Sometimes the two first operations blend into one—as, 
for example, you have to speak suddenly without having 
time to write your plan or to consider it. But when time 
is allowed, they should be separate, and each requires its 
own moment. 

We proceed to examine these three matters in suc- 
cession. 


CHAPTER VI 


PREPARATION OF THE PLAN 


THE preparation of the plan of a discourse implies, be- 
fore anything else, a knowledge of the things about which 
you have to speak; but a general knowledge is not enough ; 
you may have a great quantity of materials, of docu- 
ments, and of information in your memory, and not be 
aware how to bring them to bear. It sometimes even 
happens that those who know most, or have most matter 
in their heads, are incapable of rightly conveying it. 
The overabundance of acquisition and words crushes the 
mind, and stifles it, just as the head is paralyzed by a 
too great determination of blood, or a lamp is ex- 
tinguished by an excess of oil. 

You must begin, therefore, by methodizing what you 
know about the subject you wish to treat, and thus, in 
each discourse, you must adopt as your center, or chief 
idea, the point to be explained, but subordinate to this 
idea all the rest, in such a way as to constitute a sort of 
organism, having its head, its organs, its main limbs, and 
all the means of connection and of circulation by which 
the light of the paramount idea, emanating from the 
focus, may be communicated to the furthest parts, even 
to the last thought, and last word; as in the human body 
the blood emerges from the heart, and is spread through- 
out all the tissues, animating and coloring the surface of 
the skin. 


Thus only will there be life in the discourse, because a 
74 


PREPARATION OF THE PLAN 75 


true unity will reign in it—that is, a natural unity re- 
sulting from an interior development, an unfolding from 
within, and not from an artificial gathering of hetero- 
geneous members and their arbitrary juxtaposition. 

This constitutes the difference between words that live 
and words that are dead. These last may often also have 
a certain brilliancy from the gorgeousness of the style 
or the elegance of the sentence, but after having for a 
moment charmed the ear, they leave the mind cold and 
the heart empty. The speaker not being master of his 
subject, which he has not gone into, nor made his own by 
meditation, reflects or reverberates other people’s ideas, 
without adding to them a particle of his heat or of his 
life. It is a pale and borrowed light which, like that of 
the moon, enables you to see vaguely and indistinctly, but 
neither warms nor fertilizes; possessing only a frigid and 
deadened luster. 

Speakers of this kind, even when they extemporize, 
speak rather from memory than the understanding or 
feelings. They reproduce more or less easily shreds of 
what they have read or heard—and they have exactly 
enough mind to effect this reproduction with a certain 
facility, which tends to fluency or to twaddle. They do 
not thoroughly know what they are speaking about; they 
do not themselves understand all they say, still less make 
others understand. They have not entered into their 
subject; they have filled their apprehension with a mass 
of things relating to it, which trickle out gradually as 
from a reservoir or through a tap which they open and 
shut at pleasure. Eloquence of this description is but 
so much plain water, or rather it is so much troubled 
water, bearing nothing along its passage but words and 
the specters of thoughts, and pouring into the hearer’s 
mind disgust, wearisomeness, and nausea. Silence, 


76 PREPARATION OF THE PLAN 


which would at least leave the desire of listening, were 
a hundredfold preferable; but these spinners of talk, who 
give us phrases instead of thoughts, and exclamations in- 
stead of feelings, take away all wish to hear and inspire 
a disgust for speaking itself. 

There is no way of avoiding this disadvantage except 
by means of a well-conceived, deeply-considered, and 
seriously-elaborated plan. He who knows not how to 
form such plan will never speak in a living or an ef- 
fective manner. He may become a rhetorician; but he 
will never be an orator. 

Let us, then, see by what process this foundation of the 
orator’s task must be laid; for it is to a discourse what 
the architect’s design is to a building. 

The plan of a discourse is the order of the things which 
have to be unfolded. You must therefore begin by 
gathering these together, whether facts or ideas, and ex- 
amining each separately, in their relation to the subject 
or purport of the discourse, and in their mutual bear- 
ings with respect toit. Next, after having selected those 
which befit the subject, and rejecting those which do not, 
you must marshal them around the main idea, in such 
a way as to arrange them according to their rank and im- 
portance, with respect to the result which you have in 
view. But, what is worth still more than even this com- 
position or synthesis, you should try, when possible, to 
draw forth, by analysis or deduction, the complete de- 
velopment of one single idea, which becomes not merely 
the center, but the very principle of the rest. This is 
the best manner of explaining or developing, because ex- 
istences are thus produced in nature, and a discourse, to 
have its full value, and full efficiency, should imitate her 
in her vital process, and perfect it by idealizing that 
process. 


PREPARATION OF THE PLAN rer 


In fact, reason, when thinking and expressing its 
thought, performs a natural function, like the plant 
which germinates, flowers, and bears fruit. It operates, 
indeed, according to a more exalted power, but it follows 
in the operation the same laws as all beings endued 
with life; and the methods of analysis and synthesis, of 
deduction and induction, essential to it have their types 
and symbols in the vital acts of organic beings, which 
all proceed likewise by the way of expansion and con- 
traction, unfolding and enfolding, diffusion and col- 
lection. 

The most perfect plan is, therefore, the plan which 
organizes a discourse in the manner nature constitutes 
any being fraught with life. It is the sole means of 
giving to speaking a real and natural unity, and, conse- 
quently, real strength and beauty, which consist in the 
unity of life. 

This is doubtless the best method; but you can often 
but make an approach towards it, depending on the na- 
ture of the subject and the circumstances in which you 
have to speak. Hence a few differences, which must be 
mentioned, in the elaboration of the plan. 

In the first place, we give warning that we do not 
mean to concern ourselves with that popular eloquence 
which sometimes fulminates like a thunderbolt amidst 
the anarchy of states in riots, insurrections, and revolu- 
tions. Eloquence of that sort has no time to arrange a 
plan; it speaks according to the circumstances and, as it 
were, at the dictate of the winds by which it is borne 
along; it partakes of that disorder which has called it 
forth, and this is what, for the most part, constitutes its 
power, which is mighty to destroy. It acts after the 
fashion of a hurricane, which upsets everything in its 
course by the blind fury of the passions which it arouses, 


18 PREPARATION OF THE PLAN 


of the unreasoning wills which it carries with it, and 
yields no ray from the light of thought, nor a charm 
from the beauty of style. This instinctive and not very 
intelligent kind of eloquence is to that of which we are 
treating as the force of nature, when let loose in the 
earthquake or in great floods, is to the ordinary and 
regular laws of Providence, which produces, develops, 
and preserves whatever exists; it is the force of the steam 
which bursts the boiler, and spreads disaster and death 
wherever it reaches; whereas, when powerfully com- 
pressed within its proper limits, and directed with intelli- 
gence, it works regularly under the control of a skillful 
hand, and toils orderly and in peace for the welfare of 
men. 

We have no recommendations, then, to offer to the ora- 
tors of cabal rooms and riots, nor even to those who may 
be called on to resist or quell them. It is hard to make 
any suitable preparation in such emergencies, and, be- 
sides, they are fraught with so much of the unforeseen, 
that, in nine eases out of ten, all preparation would be 
disconcerted. What can be done is what must be done, 
according to the moment; and, in general, it is the most 
passionate, the most violent, and he who shouts the 
loudest who carries the day. Moreover, there is nearly 
always a species of fatality which prevails in these situa- 
tions: the force of things crushes the force of men. It 
is a rock loosened from the mountain-side, and falling 
headlong—a torrent swelling as it rushes onward, or the 
lava of a voleano overflowing: to endeavor to stay them 
is madness. All one can do is to protect oneself; the 
evil will be exhausted by its own course, and order will 
return after the storm. 

But in the normal state of society—and it is for that 
state we write—by the very fact of social organization, 


PREPARATION OF THE PLAN 79 


and springing out of its forms, there are constantly cases 
in which you may be called to speak in public, on ae- 
count of the position which you fill or the duties which 
you discharge. Thus, committees will continually exist, 
in which are discussed state or municipal interests, and 
deliberative or boardroom resolutions are passed by a 
majority of votes, whatever may be the constitution or 
the power of such assemblies—considerations with which 
we have no concern here. There will always be a council 
of state, general and borough councils, legislative as- 
semblies, parliaments, and committees of a hundred 
sorts. 

In the second place, there will always be tribunals 
where justice is dispensed, and where the interests of 
individuals, in collision with those of the public or with 
one another, have to be contended for before judges 
whom you must seek to convince or persuade. 

There will always be a system of public teaching to en- 
lighten and train the people, whether by the addresses of 
scientific men, who have to instruct the inhabitants in 
various degrees, and to inform them what is needed for 
the good guidance of public and of private life in 
temporal matters, or by the addresses of the ministers of 
religion, who, teaching in the name of the Almighty, 
must unremittingly remind men of their last end, and of 
the best means with which to meet it, making their 
earthly and transitory interest subordinate to their 
celestial and everlasting happiness. 

Here, then, we have four great fields in which men 
are daily called on to speak in public, in order there to 
discuss the gravest interests of society, of family, and 
of individuals, or else to unfold truths more or less lofty, 
often hard to comprehend or to admit, and the knowl- 
edge or conviction of which is of the highest moment to 


80 PREPARATION OF THE PLAN 


the welfare of society and persons. It is anything but 
immaterial, then, that men belonging to such callings, 
destined from day to day to debate public or private con- 
cerns, or to demonstrate the fundamental truths of 
science and religion, should know how to do so with 
method, clearness, power, and gracefulness—in one word, 
with all the means of persuasion—that they may not fail 
in their mission, and especially that they may dissem1- 
nate and render triumphant in the minds of men, to- 
gether with good sense and right reason, that justice, 
that truth, and those principles, in the absence of which 
nothing can be stable or durable among nations. This 
alone would show what importance for good or for evil 
the orator may acquire in society, since to his lot it falls 
to prepare, train, and control almost all the resolutions 
of communities or of individuals, that can modify their 
present or decide their future condition. 

Our remarks then will apply to four classes of speakers 
—the political orator; the forensic orator, whether magis- 
trate or advocate; the orator of education, or the pro- 
fessor: and the orator of the Christian pulpit, or the 
preacher. In these four arenas, the political assembly, 
the sanctuary of justice, the academy, and the Church, 
extemporaneous speaking is daily practiced, and is 
capable of the most salutary influence, when fraught 
with ability, life, and power, or, in other words, when 
performed with eloquence. 


CHAPTER VII 


POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING 


I wit say but little of political and forensic speaking, 
because I have not been used to either, and my wish is 
to be exponent of my own experience. I leave profes- 
sional adepts to give their colleagues the best of all ad- 
vice, that derived from actual practice. This would re- 
quire details with which nothing but the exercise of 
publie duties, or of the bench and bar themselves, could 
make us acquainted. I will therefore confine myself to 
a few general remarks derived from the theory of the 
oratorical art, as applied to the duties of the politician 
and advocate. 

The political orator may have two sorts of questions 
to treat—questions of principle, and questions of fact. 

In the latter, which is the more ordinary case, at least 
among well constituted communities, whose legislation 
and government rest upon remote precedents and are 
fixed by experience, the plan of a discourse is easy to 
construct. With principles acknowledged by all parties, 
the only point is to state the matter with the cireum- 
stances which qualify it and the reasons which urge the 
determination demanded from the voice of the assembly. 
The law or custom to which appeal is made, constitutes 
the major premise (as it is termed in Logic) ; the actual 
ease, brought by the circumstances, within that law or 
those precedents, constitutes the minor premise; and 
the conclusion follows of its own accord. In order to 

81 


82 POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING 


carry away the assent of the majority, you describe the 
advantages of the proposed measure, and the inex- 
pediency of the opposite course, or of any other line. 

To treat such subjects properly, there needs no more 
than good sense, a certain business habit, and a clear con- 
ception of what you would say and what you demand. 
You must thoroughly know what you want, and how to 
express it. In my mind, this is the best political elo- 
quence, that is, business speaking, expounding the busi- 
ness clearly, succinctly with a knowledge of the matter, 
saying only what is necessary, with tact and temperately, 
and omitting all parade of words and big expressions, 
even those which embody sentiments, save now and then 
in the exordium and peroration, according to the case. 
It is in this way that they generally speak in the British 
Parliament; and these speeches are of some use; they 
come to something, and carry business forward, or end 
it. Happy the nation which has no other sort of 
political eloquence! Unfortunately for us, another sort 
has prevailed in our own parliamentary assemblies. 

Among us, from the day that representative govern- 
ment was established, political discourses have almost in- 
variably turned upon questions of principle; no well es- 
tablished and universally respected constitution—no set- 
tled course of legislation confirmed by custom—no recog- 
nized and admitted precedents—things all of which 
strengthen the orator’s position, because he has already 
decisions on which to rest, and examples to give him their 
support. Time has been almost always employed, or 
rather wasted in laying down principles, or in trying to 
enforce what were advanced as principles. The consti- 
tution itself and, consequently, the organization of so- 
ciety and government have always been subjects of dis- 
pute; and all our assemblies—whatever the name with 


POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING 83 


which they have been adorned—have been directly or in- 
directly in the state of a constituent (or primary) body. 

Now, this is the worst of situations for the orator, for 
the assemblies themselves, and for the country; and ex- 
perience has proved it, in spite of some good speeches, 
and the reputation of several orators of whom France is 
proud. 

In these cases, in fact, the speaker is greatly at a loss 
how to treat new and unexampled questions, except by 
foreign instances which are never exactly applicable to 
another country. His ideas, not being enlightened or 
supported by experience, remain vague and float in a 
kind of chaos; and yet, as demonstration requires a basis 
of some sort, he is obliged to have recourse to philosophic 
theories, to abstract ideas which may always be disputed, 
which are often obscure and unintelligible to the ma- 
jority of the hearers, and are impugned by the votaries 
of hostile systems. Once launched into the ideas of 
philosophers the debate knows neither limits nor law. 
The most irreconcilable opinions meet and clash, and it 
is not always light which springs from their collision. 
On the contrary the longer the deliberation continues, 
the thicker the darkness becomes; Parliament degener- 
ates into an academy of philosophers, an arena of 
sophists and rhetoricians; and, as something must be con- 
cluded, either because of the pressure of necessity, or in 
consequence of the wearisomeness of the speeches and 
the satiety of debate, the discussion is closed without the 
question having been settled, and the votes, at least those 
of the majority, are given, not in accordance with any 
convictions newly acquired, but with the signal of each 
voter’s party. 

It is said that such a course is necessary in an assembly, 
if business is to be transacted; and I believe it, since 


84 POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING 


there would otherwise be no end of the deliberation. 
But it must be conceded to me withal, that to vote from 
confidence in party leaders, and because these have 
marked out the path to be pursued, is not a very enlight- 
ened way of serving one’s country and discharging the 
trust reposed by a constituency. 

Unfortunately, decisions thus formed lead to nothing 
permanent, and that is the fatal thing both for the as- 
semblies and for the nation. They found nothing, be- 
cause they are not held in serious regard by a com- 
munity, divided like their Parliaments into majorities 
and minorities, which obtain the mastery in turn over 
each other. It comes to pass that what one government 
does the next cancels; and as the battle is perpetually re- 
newed, and parties competing for power attain it in 
more or less rapid succession, every form of contradic- 
tion, within a brief space, appears and vanishes, each 
having sufficiently prevailed in rotation to destroy its 
rival. 

Hence a profound discredit in public opinion for 
laws continually passed and continually needing to be 
passed again, and thus incapable of taking root either 
in the minds of the citizens or in their reverence. Legis- 
lation becomes a species of chaos in which nothing can 
be solidly fixed, because it abounds with elements of re- 
volt which combat and disorganize whatever is produced 
there. 

Moreover—and this too is a calamity for the country 
—as parties are, for the most part, not unevenly 
matched, and as the majority depends on a few votes, 
in order to come to a decision so habitually uncertain, it 
is necessary, on important occasions, to make a fusion or 
coalition of parties in one way or another by the lures 
of private interest, which can be effected only through 


POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING 85 


mutual concessions; and then, when unanimity appears 
to have been procured in the mass of stipulations, each 
person, desirous of obtaining his own guarantees, re- 
quires that some special provision, on his account, be 
introduced in some particular to the subversion of the 
general design. Now, let but three or four parties exist 
in a national assembly (and it is a blessing if there be no 
more), and it is easy to see what sort of law it will be 
which is thus made; a species of compound, mixed of 
the most irreconcilable opinions; a monstrous being, the 
violently united parts of which wage an intense war, and 
which, therefore, after all the pain which its produc- 
tion has cost, is incapable of life. Nor can such laws be 
applied ; and after a disastrous trial, if they are not pres- 
ently abolished by the party which next obtains the 
mastery in its turn, they fall into disuse, or operate only 
by dint of exceptions and makeshifts, remaining as a 
cumber and a clog in the wheels of the political machine, 
which they continually threaten with dislocation or an 
upset. 

Whatever may have been said or done in our own day, 
there is nothing more deplorable for a people than a con- 
stitution-making assembly; for it is a collection, of 
philosophers or of men who fancy they are such, who do 
not quite understand themselves, and assuredly do not 
understand each other. Then are the destinies of a na- 
tion, its form of government, its administration, its con- 
dition and its fortune, its welfare and its misery, its 
glory and its shame, consigned to the hazards and the 
contradictions of systems and theories. 

Now, only name me a single philosopher who has ut- 
tered the truth, and the whole truth, about the prin- 
ciples, metaphysical, moral, and political, which should 
serve as the basis of the social structure. Have they not 


86 POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING 


in this most serious concern, to even a greater degree 
than in other matters, justified that remark of Cicero, 
that there is not an absurdity which has not found some 
philosopher to maintain it? If you set several of them 
together, then, to work out a constitution, how can you 
hope they will agree? They cannot agree except in one 
way—that which we just now described—by mutual con- 
cessions extorted from interest, not from conviction; and 
the force of things will oblige them to produce a ridicu- 
lous and impracticable result, repugnant to the good 
sense and conscience of the nation. 

But how then, it will be said, make a nation’s consti- 
tution? To this I answer, a nation’s constitution is not 
made, it grows of itself; or rather it is Divine Provi- 
dence, who assumes the office of making it by the process 
of centuries, and writes it with His finger in a people’s 
history. It was thus the English constitution was 
formed, and that is why it lasts. 

Or if, unhappily, after a revolution which has de- 
stroyed all a country’s precedents, which has shaken and 
uprooted everything in the land, it becomes necessary to 
constitute it anew, we must then do as the ancients did, 
who had more sense than we have in this respect; we 
must entrust the business to one man endowed with an 
intelligence and an authority adequate to this great feat, 
and impersonating, for the moment, the entire nation; 
we must commit it to a Lycurgus, a Solon, or a Pytha- 
goras; for nothing needs more wisdom, reason, or cour- 
age than such an enterprise, and men of genius are 
not always equal to it, if circumstances do not assist 
them. At all events, to this we must come after revolu- 
tions, and their various experiments of parliamentary 
constitution. The seven or eight constitutions of the first 
republic ended in that of the empire which sprang full 


POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING 87 


armed from the head of the new Jupiter; and the Con- 
stituent Assembly of 1848, with its new birth so 
laboriously produced, but no more capable of life than 
the others, vanished in a single day before the constitu- 
tion of the new empire, which is nothing at the root but 
that of the old. By this road we have come—if not to 
that liberty of which they have said so much, but which 
they never allowed us to behold—to good sense and 
order, and to the peace of social life. 

In one word, then, I will say, to close what relates to 
political eloquence: if you have to speak on a matter in 
which there are admitted principles and authorized prece- 
dents, study it well in its connection with both, that you 
may have a foundation and examples. Then examine it 
in all its actual elements, all its ramifications and conse- 
quences. You will then easily construct your plan, 
which must be determined by the nature of things, and 
when you have well conceived and pondered it, you will 
speak easily, simply, and effectively. 

But if you must discuss the origin of society, the rights 
of men and nations, natural rights and social rights, 
and other questions of that kind, I have but one advice 
to give you: begin by reading on these questions all the 
systems of the philosophers and jurists, and after doing 
so, you will be so much in the dark, and will find such 
difficulty in arriving at a rational conviction, that if you 
are sincere and honest, that is, unwilling to assert or 
maintain anything except what you know or believe, you 
will decline speaking, and adopt the plan of keeping si- 
lence, in order not to add to darkness or increase the 
confusion. 

As to the bar, with the exception of the adjustments of 
corn prices? and the harangues at the opening of the 


1In France and some other countries, as in England formerly, 


88 POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING 


courts, which are didactic or political, and therefore, be- 
long to another class of speaking,* the addresses or plead- 
ings whether by advocates, or from the floor of the court, 
are always business speeches; and accordingly the plan 
of them is easy, because it is pointed out by the facts, 
and by the development of the matter in litigation. Be- 
sides, the speaker, in this description of discourse, has 
his papers in his hand; and a man must be truly a block- 
head, or else have a very bad cause to sustain, 1f he do 
not with ease keep to the line of his subject, to which 
everything conspires to recall and guide him. It is the 
easiest sort of speaking, because it demands the least in- 
vention, and because by comparing, however superficially, 
the facts of the case with the articles of the law, the 
reasons for and against occur of themselves, according 
to the side you wish to espouse, and the only thing in 
general to be done is to enumerate them with an ex- 
planation of each. 

And yet, in this, as in everything, good speeches are 
rare, because talent is rare in all things; it is surely 
easier to be decently successful in a description of speak- 
ing which comprises a number of details, proceeds en- 
tirely upon facts, and is constantly supported by notes 
and corroborative documents. 

The preparation of the plan in addresses of this na- 
ture costs, therefore, little trouble. The character of the 
subject bears nearly all the burden, and not much re- 
mains for the invention or imagination. We should add 
that, having never pleaded, we cannot speak in any way 
from experience, and theory is hardly of any use in 
such matters. 
government interferes to settle the market conditions of certain 


staples, such as corn, flour, and bread. 
1 [Not applicable to the United States.] 


POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING 89 


The great difficulty for the forensic orator is not to 
develop his matter, or to discover what to say, but, on 
the contrary, to restrict it, to concentrate it, and to say 
nothing but what is necessary. Advocates are generally 
prolix and diffuse, and it must be said in their excuse, 
they are led into this by the nature of their subject, and 
by the way in which they are compelled to treat it. 
Having constantly facts to state, documents to interpret, 
contradictory arguments to discuss, they easily become 
lost in details to which they are obliged to attach great 
importance; and indeed more or less subtile discussion on 
the articles of the law, of facts, and of objections oc- 
cupies a very large space. It requires an exceedingly 
clear mind and no ordinary talent, to avoid being car- 
ried along by the current of this too easy eloquence, 
which degenerates so readily into mere fluency. Here, 
more than elsewhere, moderation and sobriety deserve 
praise, and the aim should be, not to say a great deal, 
and to avoid saying too much. 


CHAPTER VIII 


SPEAKING FROM THE CHRISTIAN PULPIT, AND IN 
TEACHING 


WE unite in our inquiry, so far as the preparing of a 
plan is concerned, both pulpit and professional speaking. 
Although there is a striking difference between these two 
modes of speaking, on account of the situation of the 
orators, and of the subjects which they handle—a differ- 
ence which we will indicate in passing—yet a great 
analogy subsists between them, especially in what re- 
gards the plan; for they both aim at instructing the 
hearers as their ultimate end—that is, they aim at mak- 
ing the hearers understand and admit a truth, at impress- 
ing it on their conviction or persuasion, and at showing 
them the best means of applying it or putting it in prac- 
tice. 

This resemblance, which may seem paradoxical at first 
sight, is nevertheless founded in nature, if these several 
kinds of discourses be thoroughly appreciated and con- 
sidered, as to the end which they have in view, and not 
merely as to the oratorical form or words. 

What, in fact, is the preacher’s grand aim? Whither 
must he tend with all his might? What do the nature 
and the gravity of his ministry make incumbent upon 
him? Clearly, the religious and moral instruction of 
those who listen to him, in order to induce them by a 
knowledge and conviction of the Divine Word, to observe 


it in their conduct, and to apply to their actions its pre- 
90 


ON PREACHING AND TEACHING 91 


cepts, counsels, and inspirations. Wherefore, whether he 
expound a dogma, or morals, or what relates to worship 
and to discipline, he always takes as his starting point 
and basis some truth, doctrinal or practical, which he has 
to explain, analyze, unfold, maintain, and elucidate. He 
must shed light by means of and around that truth, that 
it may enter the hearer’s mind, and produce therein a 
clear view, a conviction, and that it may arouse or in- 
crease his faith; and this faith, this conviction, this en- 
lightenment must induce him to attach himself to it, to 
seize it through his volition, and to realize it in his life. 

However great may be, after that, the ornament and 
pomp of the style, the brilliancy and variety of imagery, 
the movement and pathos of the phrases, the accent and 
the action: whether he excite powerfully the imagina- 
tion, or move the sensibility, awake the passions, or cause 
the heartstrings to vibrate, all that is well and good, but 
only as accessory, and because all these means help the 
end, which is always the transmission of the truth. All 
these things lose, without the principal one, their real 
efficacy ; or, if they produce any effect, it will neither be 
deep nor lasting, from there being no basis to the speech; 
and from the orator having labored much on the outside, 
and adorned what appears on the exterior, will have 
placed and left nothing inside. In one word, there is no 
idea in those words; only phrases, images and move- 
ments. I know well that one can carry away men with 
these, and inflame them for the moment; but it is a blind- 
ing influence, that often leads to evil, or at least to an 
exaggeration that cannot be kept up. It is a passing 
warmth that soon cools in the midst of obstacles, and 
fades easily in the confusion it has caused through im- 
prudence and precipitation. 

An idea, or the absence of an idea, teaching earnestly, 


92 ON PREACHING AND TEACHING 


or speaking only to the imagination, convincing the mind 
and persuading volition, or carrying away the heart by 
the excitation of sensibility—these distinguish sacred 
orators as well as others. But to instruct and convince 
the listener, one must be instructed and convinced. To 
make truth pass into other minds, one must possess it in 
one’s own; and this can only be done both for oneself and 
for others, independently of supernatural faith, which is 
the gift of God, by an earnest meditation of the holy 
Word, and the energetic and persevering labor of 
thought applied to the truth one wishes to expound, and 
the point of doctrine one has to teach. The same exists 
in all kinds of scientific or literary teaching. 

It is evident in philosophy. He who teaches has al- 
ways a doctrine to expound. Let him treat of faculties 
of the soul; of the operation of thought and its method; 
of duties and rights; of justice; of what is good; and 
even of what is beautiful; of the Supreme Being; of be- 
ings and their laws; of the finite and the infinite; of con- 
tingent and necessary matter; of the relative and the 
absolute: he has always before him an idea to expose, to 
develop and illustrate; and the acquaintance with this 
idea that he tries to form in his disciples must help to 
make them better as well as more enlightened, or else 
philosophy is no more worthy of her name. She would 
neither be the lover of wisdom nor its pursuit. 

If in the teaching of national sciences the professor 
limits himself to practical experiences, to describe facts 
and phenomena, he will, no doubt, be able to amuse and 
interest his listeners, youth particularly; but then he is 
only a painter, an experimenter, or an empiric. His is 
natural philosophy in sport, and his lectures are a kind 
of show, or recreative sittings. To be really a professor 
he must teach, and he can only teach through ideas; that 


ON PREACHING AND TEACHING 93 


is, by explaining the laws that rule facts, and by connect- 
ing them as much as possible with the whole of the admi- 
rable system of the creation. He must lead his disciples 
up to the heights that command facts; down in the 
depths from whence spring phenomena; and there will 
only be science in his teaching if he limits it to some 
heads of doctrine, the connection of which constitutes 
precisely the science of which he is the master. 

He will then be able to follow them in their conse- 
quences, and to confirm their theory by applications to 
mechanical and industrial arts, or to any other use for 
humanity. 

The teaching of letters and of arts is in the same con- 
dition: it always must be directed by the exposition of 
principles, rules, and methods. It is not sufficient to ad- 
mire ecstatically great models, and become enthusiastic 
‘for master works. It is something without doubt, when 
the enthusiasm is sincere and the admiration is truly 
felt; but the teaching must be didactic; he must himself 
learn while he teaches the secret of the work; he must 
indicate the process, and direct the work. He must 
teach the pupils to acknowledge, to have a taste for what 
is beautiful, and to reproduce it; and for that we must 
be able to say in what the beautiful consists in each art, 
and how we come to discern it in nature, to preserve or 
imagine it in our minds while idealizing it, and to trans- 
fer the ideal into reality by the resources of art. 

Although here facts and examples have more influence, 
because feeling and imagination play the chief part in 
the work, yet ideas are also necessary, and especially in 
literature, poetry, and the arts of language. That which 
chiefly distinguishes artists and schools from each other 
is the predominance of the idea, or the predominance of 
the form. The most beautiful forms in the world, with- 


94 ON PREACHING AND TEACHING 


out idea, remain superficial, cold, and dead. The idea 
alone gives life to any human production, as the Divine 
ideas vivify the productions of nature. For in all things 
the spirit quickeneth; but the letter, when alone, killeth. 
Therefore, he who teaches literature or art ought to have 
a method, a certain science of his art, the principles of 
which he should expound, by rules and processes, apply- 
ing them practically, and supporting them with ex- 
amples. 

Were we to pass in review all kinds of instruction one 
after another, we should find the same end and the same 
conditions as in pulpit discourse or in religious teaching; 
namely: the clear exposition of some truth for the in- 
struction of the hearer, with a view to convince him and 
induce him to act according to his conviction. 

Let us see, then, at present in a general way, how we 
should set about preparing the plan of a discourse, and 
doing what we have just said, whether as a preacher or 
as a professor. We shall here speak from experience, 
a circumstance which gives us some confidence, because 
we are about to expound with simplicity what we have 
been accustomed to do for nearly forty years in teaching 
philosophy, and what we still do, and desire to do while 
any strength and energy remain, in the pulpit. 


CHAPTER IX 


DETERMINATION OF THE SUBJECT AND CONCEPTION OF THE 
IDEA OF THE DISCOURSE 


He who wishes to speak in public must, above all, see 
clearly on what he has to speak, and rightly conceive 
what he has to say. The precise determination of the 
subject, and the idea of the discourse—these are the two 
first stages of the preparation. 

It is not so easy as it seems to know upon what one is 
to speak: many orators, at least, seem to be ignorant of 
it, or to forget it, in the course of their address; for it 
is sometimes their case to speak of all things except those 
which would best relate to the occasion. This exact de- 
termination of the subject is still more needful in ex- 
temporization; for there many more chances of dis- 
cursiveness exist. The address not being sustained by 
the memory or by notes, the mind is more exposed to the 
influences of the moment; and nothing is required but 
the failure or inexactitude of a word, the suggestion of a 
new thought, a little inattention, to lure it from the sub- 
ject, and throw it into some crossroad, which takes it far 
away. Add the necessity of continuing, when once a 
speech is begun, because to stop is embarrassing ; to with- 
draw, a disgrace. 

Therefore, in order to lead and sustain the progress 
of a discourse, one must clearly know whence one starts, 
and whither one goes, and never lose sight of either the 


point of departure or the destination. But, to effect this, 
95 


96 THE SUBJECT AND ITS POINT 


the road must be measured beforehand, and the principal 
distance marks must have been placed. There is a risk 
else of losing one’s way, and then, either one arrives at 
no end, even after much fatigue, productive of inter- 
minable discourses leading to nothing—or if one at last 
reaches the destination, it is after an infinity of turns 
and circuits, which have wearied the hearer as well as 
the speaker, without profit or pleasure for anybody. 

The determination of the subject ought not to fix 
merely the point upon which one has to speak, but fur- 
ther the radiation of this point and the circumference 
which it will embrace. The circle clearly may be more 
or less extensive, for all things are connected in the world 
of ideas, even more than in that of bodies, and as, in fine, 
all is in each, you may speak of everything in connection 
with anything, and this is what too often befalls those 
who extemporize. 

Then the discourse leads the mind, not the mind the 
discourse. It is a ship which falls away for want of a 
helm, and he who is within, unable to control her, aban- 
dons himself to the current of the stream, at the risk of 
wrecking himself upon the first breaker, and not knowing 
where he shall touch the shore. 

It is but wise, then, not to begin a speech without hav- 
ing at least by a rapid general view, if there be no time 
to prepare a plan, decided the main line of the discourse, 
and sketched in the mind an outline of its most promi- 
nent features. In this precepts are not of great use; 
good sense, tact, and a clear and lively intelligence are 
requisite to seize exactly the point in question and to 
hold to it; and for this end nothing is better than to 
formularize it at once by some expression, some proposi- 
tion, which may serve to reduce the subject to its simplest 
shape, and to determine its proportions. 


THE SUBJECT AND ITS POINT 97 


A question well stated is half solved. In like manner 
a subject well fixed admits of easier treatment, and 
singularly facilitates the discourse. As to the rest, the 
occasion, the circumstances, and the nature of the subject, 
do much in the same direction. There are cases in which 
the subject determines itself by the necessity of the situa- 
tion and the force of things. The case is more em- 
barrassing when the speaker is master of circumstances, 
as in teaching, where he may distribute his materials at 
his pleasure, and design each lesson’s part. In any case, 
and howsoever he sets to work, each discourse must have 
its own unity, and constitute a whole, in order that the 
hearer may embrace in his understanding what has been 
said to him, may conceive it in his own fashion, and be 
able to reproduce it at need. 

But the general view of the subject, and the formula 
which gives it precision, are not enough; the ira of it, 
the living idea, the parent idea, which is the source of 
the life in a discourse, and without which the words will 
be but a dead letter, must be obtained. 

What is this parent idea, and how do we obtain it? 

In the physical world, whatever has life comes from a 
germ, and this germ, previously contained in another 
living existence, there takes life itself, and on its own 
account, by the process of fecundation. Fecundated, it 
guits its focus; punctum saliens, it radiates and tends to 
develop itself by reason of the primordial life which 
it bears within it, and of the nurture it receives; then 
by gradual evolution, it acquires organic form, consti- 
tuted existence, individuality, and body. 

It is the same in the intellectual world, and in all the 
productions of our mind, and by our mind outside of it- 
self, through language and discourse. There are in our 
understanding germs of mental existences, and when they 


98 THE SUBJECT AND ITS POINT 


are evoked by a mind which is of their own nature, they 
take life, become developed and organized, first in the 
depth of the understanding which is their brooding re- 
ceptacle, and finally passing into the outer world by that 
speech which gives them a body, they become incarnate 
there, so to speak, and form living productions, instinct 
with more or less of life by reason of their fecundated 
germ, of the understanding which begets them, and of 
the mind which vivifies them. 

In every discourse, if it have life, there is a parent 
idea or fertile germ, and all the parts of the discourse 
are like the principal organs and the members of an ani- 
mated body. The propositions, expressions, and words 
resemble those secondary organs which connect the prin- 
cipal as the nerves, muscles, vessels, tissues, attaching 
them to one another and rendering them co-partners in 
life and death. Then amid this animate and organic 
mass there is the spirit of life, which is in the blood, and 
is everywhere diffused with the blood from the heart, 
life’s center, to the epidermis. So in eloquence, there is 
the spirit of the words, the soul of the orator, inspired 
by the subject, his intelligence illumined with mental 
light, which circulates through the whole body of the dis- 
course, and pours therein brightness, heat, and life. A 
discourse without a parent idea is a stream without a 
fountain, a plant without a root, a body without a soul; 
empty phrases, sounds which beat the air, or a tinkling 
cymbal. 

Nevertheless, let us not be misapprehended; if we say 
that a discourse requires a parent idea, we do not mean 
that this idea must be a new one, never before conceived 
or developed by any one. Were this so, no more orators 
would be possible, since already, from Solomon’s day, 
there has been nothing new under the sun, and the cycle 


THE SUBJECT AND ITS POINT 99 


of ages continually brings back the same things under 
different forms. 

It is not likely, then, that in our day there should be 
more new ideas than in that of the King of Israel; but 
ideas, like all the existences of this world, are renewed in 
each age, and for each generation. They are repro- 
duced under varied forms and with modifications of cir- 
cumstances: ‘‘Non nova sed nové,’’ said Vincent of 
Lerins. The same things are differently manifested ; 
and thus they adapt themselves to the wants of men, 
which change with time and place. 

For this reason the orator may, and should say, an- 
cient things, in substance; but he will say them in an- 
other manner, corresponding with the dispositions of the 
men of his epoch, and he will add the originality of his 
individual conception and expression. 

For this purpose, in all the rigor of the word he should 
conceive his subject, in order to have the zdea of it; this 
idea must be born in him, and grow, and be organized in 
a living manner; and as there is no conception without 
fecundation, this mental fecundation must come to him 
from without, either spontaneously, or, at least, in an in- 
visible manner, as in the inspirations and illuminations 
of genius—or, what oftener happens, by means of the at- 
tentive consideration of the subject and meditation upon 
the thoughts of others. 

In any case, whatever be the fashion of the under- 
standing’s fecundation, and from whatever quarter light 
comes to it—and light is the life of the mind—he must 
absolutely conceive the idea of what he shall say, if he 
is to say anything fraught with life, and now new but 
original—that is, engendered, born in his mind, and bear- 
ing the character of it. His thoughts will then be proper 
to him (his own) by virtue of their production, and de- 


100 THE SUBJECT AND ITS POINT 


spite their resemblance to others—as children belong to 
their mother, notwithstanding their likeness to all the 
members of the human race. But they all and each 
possess something new for the family and generation in 
which they are to live. It is all we would say when we 
require of him who has to speak in public, that he should 
have, at least, an idea to expound, sprung mentally, if we 
may so say, from his loins, and produced alive in the in- 
tellectual world by his words, as in the physical order a 
child by its mother. This simply means, in the lan- 
guage of common sense, that the orator should have a 
clear conception of what he would say. 


CHAPTER X 


CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT—DIRECT METHOD 


How ensure a good conception of your subject? There 
are two ways or methods; the one direct, which is always 
the best when you can take it; the other indirect, longer 
and less certain, but more accessible to beginners, more 
within reach of ordinary minds, and serving to form 
them. You may indeed use both ways; either coming 
back the second way, when you have gone out by the 
‘first, or beginning with the easiest, in order to arrive at 
the most arduous. 

The main way, or that which by preéminence deserves 
the designation, consists in placing yourself immediately 
in relation with the object about which you have to 
speak, so as to consider it face to face, looking clean 
through it with the mind’s eye, while you are yourself 
irradiated with the light which the object gives forth. 

In this crossing of rays, and by means of their inter- 
penetration, a conception, representing that object which 
begets it, is produced in the understanding, and partakes 
of the nature of that in which it is formed, and which 
contains it. 

In this case a fecundation of the mind, or subject, is 
affected by the object, and the result is the idea of the 
object, begotten and brought into a living state in the 
understanding by its own force. This idea is always 


in the ratio of the two factors or causes which combine 
101 


102 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 


to call it forth, of their relation to each other, and of 
the success with which the union is effected. 

If the mind be simple, unwarped, pure, greedy of 
knowledge, and eager after truth—when it places itself 
before the object fully, considers it generally, at the 
same time that it opens itself unreservedly to its light 
with a wish to be penetrated by it, and to penetrate it, 
to become united to it with all its strength and capacity; 
and if, further, it have the energy and persistency to 
maintain itself in this attitude of attention without dis- 
traction, and collecting all its faculties, concentrating 
all its lights, it makes them converge upon this single 
point, and becomes wholly absorbed in the union which 
thus ensures intellectual fecundity, the conception then 
takes place after a normal and a plenary fashion. The 
very life of the object, or thing contemplated, passes 
with its light into the subject or mind contemplating, 
and from the life-endowed mental germ springs the 
IDEA, at first weak and darkling, like whatever is newly- 
begotten, but growing afterwards by the labor of the 
mind and by nutrition. It will become gradually or- 
ganized, full-grown, and complete; as soon as its con- 
stitution is strong enough to emerge from the under- 
standing, it will seek the birth of words, in order to un- 
fold to the world the treasures of truth and life which 
it contains within it. 

But if it be only examined obliquely, under an inci- 
dental or restricted aspect, the result will be a conception 
analogous to the connection which produces it, and con- 
sequently an idea of the object, possessing perhaps some 
truth and some life, but representing the object only in 
one phase, only in part, and thus leading to a narrow 
and inadequate knowledge. 

It is clear that as it is in the physical, so in the moral 


CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 103 


world. Knowledge is formed by the same laws as ex- 
istence, the knowledge of metaphysical like that of sen- 
sible things, although these differ essentially in their na- 
ture and in their limits. The laws by which life is 
transmitted are those by which thought is transmitted, 
which is, after its own fashion, conceived and generated ; 
a fact arising from the application to the production of 
all living beings of the eternal law of the Divine gen- 
eration, by which the Being of beings, the Principle of 
life, Who is life itself, engenders in Himself His image 
or His Word, by the knowledge which he has eternally 
of Himself, and by the love of His own perfection which 
he contemplates. 

Thus with the human mind, which is made in the 
image of God, and which reproduces a likeness of it 
in all its operations; the knowledge of a human mind is 
also a sort of generation. It has no knowledge of sen- 
sible things, except through the images which they pro- 
duce in the understanding, and that such images should 
arise, it is requisite that the understanding be pene- 
trated by the impressions of objects, through the senses 
and their organs. Hence appearances, images, ideas, 
or to speak more philosophically, conceptions of exterior 
things, which are not only the raw material of knowl- 
edge, but the principles more or less pregnant of the 
sciences of nature, according as they may have been 
formed in the mind. This accounts in part for the 
power of first impressions, the virtue of the first aspect, 
or of the primary meeting of the ‘‘swbject’’ and object. 

Now we have intelligible and spiritual, as well as ma- 
terial and sensible, existences around us. We live by 
our mind and by its intercourse with that of our fellow 
creatures in a moral world, which is realized and per- 
petuated by speech and in language, as physical exist- 


104 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 


ences are fixed in the soil, and from the soil developed. 
The language spoken by a human community, and con- 
stituting the depository, the magazine of the thoughts, 
ideas, and knowledge of that community, forms a true 
world of minds, a sphere of intellectual existences, hav- 
ing its own life, light, and laws. 

Now it is with these subtile and, as it were, ethereal 
existences, which are condensed in words, like vapor in 
clouds—it is with these metaphysical realities that our 
mind must come into contact, in order by them to be 
fecundated, without other medium than the signs which 
express them, and in order to conceive the ideas which 
science has to develop by analysis, and which the 
speaker will unfold in his discourse, so as to bring home 
their truth to those who are ignorant of it. Anybody 
must feel how difficult it is to hold communion by the 
sight of the mind with things so delicate, so evanescent, 
things which cannot be seized except by their nebulous 
and ever shifting dress of language; and how much more 
difficult it is to persist long in this contemplation, and 
how soon the intelligence gets fatigued of pursuing ob- 
jects so scarcely tangible, objects escaping its grasp on 
all sides. In truth it is only a very rare and choice class 
of minds which know how to look directly, fixedly, and 
perseveringly at objects of pure intelligibility. For the 
same reason these have greater fecundity, because enter- 
ing into a close union with the objects of their thought, 
and becoming thoroughly penetrated by them, they take 
in the very nature and vitality of things, with the light 
which they emit. 

These are the minds, moreover, that conceive ideas and 
think for the rest of mankind whose torches and guides 
they are in the intellectual world; and as their words, 
the vehicle of their conceptions and thoughts, are em- 


CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 105 


ployed during instruction in reproducing, that is, in 
engendering within the minds of their fellow-creatures 
the ideas which the light of the things themselves has 
produced in their own, they are called men of genus, 
that is, generators by intelligence, or transmitters by 
means of language, of the light and life of the mind. 

This consideration brings us to the second way or 
method by which feebler intellects, or such as have talent 
without having genius, may also succeed in conceiving 
the idea of the subject upon which they are about to 
speak, 


CHAPTER XI. 


CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT—INDIRECT METHOD 


THOSE who have to treat a subject which has not been 
treated before are obliged to draw from a consideration 
of the subject, and from their own resources, all they 
have to say. Then, according to their genius and their 
penetration, and in proportion to the manner in which 
they put themselves in presence of the things, will their 
discourse evince more or less truth, exactitude, and 
depth. They are sure to be original, since they are the 
first comers—and, in general, the first view, which is not 
influenced by any prejudice or bias, but which arises 
from the natural impression of the object upon the soul, 
produces clear and profound ideas, which remain in the 
kingdom of science or of art as common property, and a 
sort of patrimony for those who come later. Afterwards, 
when the way is opened, and many have trodden it, 
leaving their traces behind them, when a subject has been 
discussed at various times and among several circles, it 
is hard to be original, in the strict sense, upon that topic; 
that is, to have new thoughts—thoughts not expressed be- 
fore. But it is both possible and incumbent to have that 
other species of originality, which consists in putting 
forth no ideas except such as one has made one’s own by 
a conception of one’s own, and are thus quickened with 
the life of one’s own mind. This is called taking pos- 
session in the finder’s name; and Moliére, when he imi- 


tated Plautus and Terence; La Fontaine, when he bor- 
106 


CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 107 


rowed from Alsop and Phedrus, were not ashamed of 
the practice. This condition is indispensable, if life is 
to be imparted to the discourse; and it is this which dis- 
tinguishes the orator, who draws on his own interior re- 
sources even when he borrows, from the actor who imper- 
sonates, or the reader who recites the productions of 
another. 

In such a ease the problem stands therefore :—When 
you have to speak on a subject already treated by several 
authors, you must carefully cull their justest and most 
striking thoughts, analyze and sift these with critical dis- 
cernment and penetration, then fuse them in your own 
alembiec by a powerful synthetic operation, which, re- 
jecting whatever is heterogeneous, collects and kneads 
whatever is homogeneous or amalgamable, and fashions 
forth a complex idea that shall assume consistency, unity, 
and color in the understanding by the very heat of the 
mind’s labor. 

If we may compare things spiritual with things ma- 
terial—and we always may, since they are governed by 
the same laws, and hence their analogy—we would say 
that, in the formation of an idea by this method, some- 
thing occurs similar to what is observed in the produc- 
tion of the ceramic or modeler’s art, composed of various 
elements, earths, salts, metals, alkalies, acids, and the 
rest, which, when suitably separated, sifted, purified, are 
first united into one compound, then kneaded, shaped, 
molded, or turned, and finally subjected to the action of 
the fire which combines them in unity, and gives to the 
whole solidity and splendor. 

Thus, the orator who speaks after many others, and 
must treat the same topic, ought first to endeavor to 
make himself acquainted with all that has been written 
on the subject, in order to extract from the mass the 


108 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 


thoughts which best serve his end; he ought then to col- 
lect and fuse within his own thought the lights emitted 
by other minds, gather and converge upon a single point 
the rays of those various luminaries. 

He cannot shirk this labor, if he would treat his sub- 
ject with fullness and profundity; in a word, if he is in 
earnest with his business, which is to seek truth, and to 
make it known. Like every true artist, he has an in- 
tuition of the ideal, and to that ideal he is impelled by 
the divine instinct of his intelligence to lift his con- 
ceptions and his thoughts, in order to produce, first in 
himself and then upon others, by speaking or by what- 
ever is his vehicle of expression, something which shall 
forever tend towards it, without ever attaining it. 
For ideas, properly so called, being the very conceptions 
of the Supreme Mind, the eternal archetypes after which 
all created things have been modeled with all their 
powers, the human mind, made after the image of the 
Creator, yet always finite, whatever its force or its light, 
ean catch but glimpses of them here below, and will 
always be incapable of conceiving and of reproducing 
them in their immensity and infinitude. 

However, care must be taken here not to allow oneself 
to be carried away by too soaring a train of considera- 
tions, or into too vast a field; all is linked with all, and in 
things of a higher world this is more especially the case, 
for there you are in the realm of sovereign unity, and 
universality. A philosopher, meditating and writing, 
may give wings to his contemplation, and his flight will 
never be too lofty nor too vigorous, provided his intelli- 
gence be illumined with the true light, and guided in the 
right path; but the speaker generally stands before an 
audience who are not on his own level, and whom he 
must take at theirs. Again, he speaks in a given state 


CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 109 


of things, with a view to some immediate effect, some 
definite end. His topic is restricted by these conditions, 
and his manner of treating it must be subordinated to 
them, his discourse adapted to them. It is no business 
of his to say all that might be said, but merely what is 
necessary or useful in the actual case, in order to en- 
lighten his hearers, and to persuade them. He must, 
therefore, cireumscribe his matter within the limits of 
his purpose; and his discourse must have just that ex- 
tent, that elevation, and discretion which the special cir- 
cumstances demand. 

It is with this aim that the orator ought to prepare his 
materials, and lay in, as it were, the provisions for his 
discourse. 

First, as we have said, he must collect the ingredients 
of his compost. Then he will do what the bee does, 
which rifles the flowers—exactly what the bee does; for, 
by an admirable instinct which never misleads it, it ex- 
tracts from the cup of the flowers only what serves to 
form the wax and the honey, the aromatic and the 
oleaginous particles. But, be it well observed, the bee 
first nourishes itself with these extracts, digests them, 
transmutes them, and turns them into wax and honey 
solely by an operation of absorption and assimilation. 

Just so should the speaker do. Before him lie the 
fields of science and of literature, rich in each description 
of flower and fruit—every hue, every flavor. In these 
fields he will seek his booty, but with discernment; and 
choosing only what suits his work, he will extract from 
it, by thoughtful reading and by the process of mental 
tasting (his thoughts all absorbed in his topic, and dart- 
ing at once upon whatever relates to it), everything 
which can minister nutriment to his intelligence, or fill 
it, or even perfume it; in a word, the substantial or aro- 


110 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 


matic elements of his honey, or idea, but ever so as to 
take in and to digest, like the bee, in order that there 
may be a real transformation and appropriation, and 
consequently a production fraught with life, and to live. 

The way in which he should set to work, or at least the 
way in which we have ourselves proceeded under similar 
circumstances, and with good results, is this. 

[ We hope we shall be forgiven for these details of the 
interior, these psivate managements of an orator: we 
think them more useful to show how to contrive than the 
didactics of teaching would be; they are the contrivances 
of the craft, secrets of the workshop. Besides, we are 
not writing for adepts, but for novices; and these will 
be better helped by practical advice, and by the results 
of positive experience, than by general rules or by specu- 
lations. | 

Above all, then, you must decide with the utmost 
clearness what it is you are going to speak upon. Many 
orators are too vague in this; and it is an original vice 
which makes itself felt in their whole labor, and, later, 
in their audience. Nothing is worse than vagueness in a 
discourse; it produces obscurity, diffuseness, rigmarole, 
and wearisomeness. The hearer does not cling to a 
speaker who talks without knowing what he would say, 
and who, undertaking to guide him, seems to be ignorant 
whither he is going. 

The topic once well settled, the point to be treated 
once well defined, you know where to go for help. You 
ask for the most approved writers on that point; you 
get together their works, and begin to read them with 
attention, pausing, above all, upon the chapters and 
passages which specially concern the matter in question. 

Always read pen or pencil in hand. Mark the parts 
which most strike you, those in which you perceive the 


CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT BE 


germ of an idea or of anything new to you; then, when 
you have finished your reading, make a note, let it be a 
substantial note, not a mere transcription or extract—a 
note embodying the very thought which you have appre- 
hended, and which you have already made your own by 
digestion and assimilation. 

Above all, let these notes be short and lucid; put them 
down one under the other, so that you may afterwards 
be able to run over them at a single view. 

Mistrust long readings from which you earry nothing 
away. Our mind is naturally so lazy, the labor of 
thought is so irksome to it, that it gladly yields to the 
pleasure of reading other people’s thoughts, in order to 
avoid the trouble of forming any itself; and then time 
passes in endless readings, the pretext of which is some 
hunt after materials, and which comes to nothing. The 
mind ruins its own sap, and gets burdened with trash: 
it is as though overladen with undigested food, which 
gives it neither force nor light. 

Quit not a book until you have wrested from it what- 
ever relates the most closely to your subject. Not till 
then go on to another, and get the cream off, if I may so 
express myself, in the same manner. 

Repeat this labor with several, until you find that the 
same things are beginning to return, or nearly so, and 
that there is nothing to gain in the plunder; or suppose 
that you feel your understanding to be sufficiently fur- 
nished, and that your mind now requires to digest the 
nutriment which it has taken. 

Rest awhile, in order to let the intellectual digestion 
operate. Then, when these various aliments begin to be 
transformed, interpenetrated, comes the labor of the 
desk, which will extract from the mass of nourishment 
its very juices, distribute them everywhere, and will con- 


112 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 


tribute to form, from diversity of products, unity of 
life. 

It is with the mind as with the body; after nourish- 
ment and repose, it requires to act and to transmit. 
When it has repaired its strength, it must exert it; when 
it has received it, it must give; after having concentrated 
itself, it needs dilation; it must yield back what it has 
absorbed; fullness unrelieved is as painful to it as inani- 
tion. These are the two vital movements—attraction 
and expansion. 

The moment this fullness is felt, the moment of acting 
or thinking for yourself has arrived. 

You take up your notes and you carefully re-read 
them face to face with the topic to be treated. You blot 
out such as diverge from it too much, or are not suf- 
ficiently substantial, and by this elimination you gradu- 
ally concentrate and compress the thoughts which have 
the greatest reciprocal bearing. You work these a longer 
or a shorter time in your understanding, as in a crucible, 
by the inner fire of reflection, and, in nine cases out of 
ten, they end by amalgamating and fusing into one an- 
other, until they form a homogeneous mass, which is re- 
duced, like the metallic particles in incandescence, by 
the persistent hammering of thought into a dense and 
solid oneness. 

As soon as you become conscious of this unity, you 
obtain a glimpse of the essential idea of the composition, 
and in that essential idea, the leading ideas which will 
distribute your topic, and which already appear like the 
first organic lineaments of the discourse. 

In the case supposed, the idea forms itself syntheti- 
eally, or by a sort of intellectual coagulation, which is 
fraught with life, because there is really a crossing or 
interpenetration of various thoughts in one single mind, 


CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 113 


which has assimilated them to one another only by first 
assimilating them to itself. They take life in its life 
which unifies them, and although the idea be thus com- 
pounded of a multiplicity of elements, nevertheless as 
these elements have been transformed into that one 
mind’s own thought, they become harmonized therein, 
and constitute a new production endowed by the under- 
standing in which it is called forth, with something in- 
dividualizing and original. 

However, a different result sometimes occurs, and this 
happens particularly in the most stirring and fertile in- 
tellects. The perusal of other men’s thoughts, and the 
meditation thus excited, becomes for them not the ef- 
ficient cause, but the occasion, of the requisite idea, which 
springs into birth by a sudden illumination, in the midst 
of their mental labor over other people’s ideas, as the 
spark darts from the flint when stricken by steel. 

It is a mixed method between the direct, which is that 
of nature, and the indirect which we have been describ- 
ing. It partakes of the former, because there is in it a 
kind of generation of the idea which is instantaneously 
effected; but it is a generation less instinct with life, 
and, as it were, at second hand; for it is not formed in 
the mind by the action of the thing itself, but by its 
image or reflection in a human expression. It partakes 
of the second method, because the birth of the idea is 
brought about by reading and meditation. 

The idea which is its offspring, though inferior to that 
engendered by the object itself, is more natural, and, 
therefore, more living than that produced by synthesis ; 
simpler, more one, more original; it is more racy of the 
mind, which has conceived it at one effort, and from 
which it springs full of life, as Minerva in the fable 
sprang full-armed from the head of Jupiter cleft by Vul- 


114 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 


can’s hatchet. Thus it is with the orator’s understand- 
ing, which is suddenly opened by a thought that strikes 
it, and from which arises completely organized the idea 
of his topic to become the Minerva or wisdom of his 
discourse. In this case the plan of his composition 
arranges itself spontaneously. The parent idea takes 
the place of sovereignty at once, by right of birth, and 
all the others group themselves around her, and to her 
subordinate themselves naturally, in order to codperate 
in better displaying her and doing her honor, as bees 
around the queen bee to work under her direction at the 
common task, or as, in revolutions and the emergencies 
which end them, nations instinctively rally about the 
man of Providence, raised up by the Almighty to reéstab- 
lish order, equity, and peace. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE FORMATION AND THE ARRANGEMENT OF IDEAS 


THE idea is formed either through the fecundation of 
the understanding by the object which there engenders 
its image and deposits its life, or by the bringing to- 
gether of various elements transformed and made one by 
the absorbing and reflecting operations of the mind; or 
else by a mixed process which partakes of both these, and 
which we just now described. 

In all three cases, however, at the first moment of con- 
ception, there is as yet only a shapeless and vague 
product which floats, so to say, upon the waters of the 
understanding, and over which broods the spirit of life 
which has indeed animated it, but which has still to de- 
velop and to organize it, to establish it in a definite state 
of existence, and to give it an individuality? by means 
of words and in the discourse. 

It is the germ fecundated in the parent soil, but which 
cannot yet spring forth without danger, for want of the 
necessary organization to live and take its place in the 
world to which it is destined to belong. Therefore, a 
period of incubation and organogenesis is indispensable 
to it under pain of its abortion, and the loss of its life. 

This is precisely the speaker’s case; he has conceived 

1“A local habitation and a name.” There is throughout the 
whole of these passages a striking analogy between the thoughts 
of Shakespeare, as they are hinted in his brief picture of the 
poet, and those which M. Bautain, applying them to the orator, 


more philosophically analyzes and more fully develops. 
115 


116 FORMATION OF IDEAS 


his idea, and he bears it within the entrails of his under- 
standing. He must not commit it to the day until it is 
able to appear with the conditions of vitality, that is to 
say, before it is organized in all its parts, in order that 
it may properly perform its functions in the world which 
it is to enter—neglect this, and you will have an abortive 
discourse, words without life. 

Sometimes the idea thus conceived is developed and 
formed rapidly, and then the plan of the discourse ar- 
ranges itself on a sudden, and you throw it upon paper 
warm with the fervor of the conception which has just 
taken place, as the metal in a state of fusion is poured 
into the mold, and fills at a single turn all its lineaments. 
ft is the case most favorable to eloquence—that is, if the 
idea has been well conceived, and if it be fraught with 
light. 

But in general, one must not be in a hurry to form 
one’s plan. In nature, life always needs a definite time 
for self-organization—and it is only ephemeral beings 
which are quickly formed, for they quickly pass away. 
Everything destined to be durabie is of slow growth, and 
both the solidity and the strength of existing things bear 
a direct ratio to the length of their increase and the ma- 
tureness of their production. 

When, therefore, you have conceived an idea, unless it 
be perfectly clear to you at the first glance, be in no haste 
to throw it into shape. Carry it for a time in your 
mind, as the mother carries her offspring, and during 
this period of gestation (or bearing), by the very fact 
that the germ lives in your understanding, and lives 
with its life, it will of itself tend towards development 
and completion. By means of the spiritual, the mental 
incubation of meditation, it will pass from the egg to the 
embryo, and when sufficiently mature to be trusted to the 


FORMATION OF IDEAS 117 


light of day, it will spontaneously strive to break from 
confinement, and to issue forth to view—then comes the 
moment for writing. 

The organic generation of ideas is as impossible to ex- 
plain fully as that of bodies. Nature’s work is mys- 
terious in the one respect as in the other; only there be- 
ing a part for freewill and conscience to play in the in- 
tellectual sphere, we see a little more clearly in this than 
in the other, and codperate a little more directly. 

The understanding, in fact, is a spiritual soil which 
has feeling, consciousness, and up to a certain point, a 
knowledge of whatever is taking place in it. We cannot 
conceive an idea without being conscious of it; for the 
very property of a mental conception is the formation 
within us of a new knowledge; and thus we are not left, 
in this respect, as in the physical order, to the operation 
of the blind force of nature. The mother of the Macca- 
bees said to her children—‘I know not how you were 
formed ... nor how the life you have received was 
created ;’? now, the understanding, which is the mother 
of the ideas engendered by it and living in it, has the 
privilege not only of feeling but of seeing their forma- 
tion; otherwise it would not be understanding. It as- 
sists at the development of its ideas, and codperates 
therein, actively and intelligently, by the functions of 
thought and reflection, by meditation and mental toil. 
Such is the difference between physical and moral nature, 
between the life of the body and that of the mind, be- 
tween the action of animate matter and that of intelli- 
gence. 

The thoughts apply themselves to a frequent considera- 
tion of the idea conceived; they turn it and re-turn it in 
every direction, look at it in all its aspects, place it in 
all manner of relations; then they penetrate it with their 


118 FORMATION OF IDEAS 


light, scrutinize its foundation, and examine its prin- 
cipal parts in succession; these begin to come out, to 
separate themselves from each other, to assume sharp 
outlines, just as in the bud the first rudimentary traces 
of the flower are discernible; then the other organic 
lines, appearing one after the other, instinct with life, 
or like the confused, first animate form, which, Lit- 
tle by little, declares itself in all the finish of its pro- 
portions. In like manner, the idea, in the successive 
stages of its formation, shows itself each day in fuller 
development to the mind which bears it, and which ac- 
quires assurance of its progress by persevering medita- 
tion. 

There are frequently good ideas which perish in a 
man’s understanding, abortively, whether for want of 
nourishment, or from the debility of the mind which, 
through levity, indolence, or giddiness, fails to devote a 
sufficient amount of reflection to what it has conceived. 
It is even observable that those who conceive with the 
greatest quickness and facility bring forth, generally, 
both in thoughts and in language, the weakest and the 
least durable productions; whether it be that they do 
not take time enough to mature what they have con- 
ceived—hurried into precocious display by the vivacity 
of their feelings and imagination—or on account of the 
impressionability and activity of their minds, which, 
ever yielding to fresh emotions, exhausting themselves 
in too rapid an alternation of revulsions, have not the 
strength for patient meditations, and allow the half- 
formed idea or the crude thought, born without life, to 
escape from the understanding. Much, then, is in our 
own power towards the ripening and perfecting of our 
ideas. 

Nevertheless, we must acknowledge and with humility 


FORMATION OF IDEAS 19 


eonfess—even while conceding their full share in the 
result to reason and our own voluntary efforts—a share 
as undeniable in this case, and perhaps more undeniable, 
than in any other—that there is a great deal which is 
not within our power in the whole of this operation, and 
that a man’s own proper part, or merit, in the matter 
is of very slight account, compared to the immense and 
gratuitous gifts on which he must rely. Who can give 
to genius, or even to talent, that marvelous understand- 
ing by which things are promptly and lucidly conceived 
—that fertile and sensitive mirror of ideas which re- 
sponds to the slightest objective impression, and so as- 
tonishingly reproduces all its types? 

Who can give them that powerful intelligence, whose 
piercing glance seizes every relation, discerns every 
shade, traverses the whole extent of ideas? That glow- 
ing imagination which invests each conception with bril- 
liant coloring—that unfailing and tenacious memory 
which preserves unimpaired all the features of it, and 
reproduces them at will, either separately or together, to 
assist the labor of thought and meditation ? 

Who can give them that vigorous attention, that strong 
grasp of the mind, which seizes with energy and holds 
with perseverance before the eye of the intelligence, the 
object to be considered and sounded; who gives them 
that patience of observation, which is itself a species of 
genius, especially in the study of Nature? 

All these rich endowments may, indeed, be developed 
by exercise and perfected by art; but neither exercise 
nor art can acquire them. And since in the order of in- 
telligence, and of science, as in the physical world, we 
see nothing without the light which illumines objects, 
whence do these select minds get that intellectual and 
immaterial light, which shines upon them more abun- 


120 FORMATION OF IDEAS 


dantly than on others and enables them to discern in 
things and in the ideas of things what others see not? 
So that, according to the magnificent expression of the 
Royal Prophet they see the light in the light. Whence 
the lofty inspirations, the sudden flashings of genius, 
producing in it great and new ideas, so deeply and so 
mightily conceived, that they become by their radiation 
so many centers of hight, so many torches of the human 
race? How is it that, in the presence of nature or of 
society, they experience such emotions and such impres- 
sions, that they see and understand what to others is all 
darkness and void? 

We might as well ask why one soil is more fruitful 
than another, why the sun in a given climate is brighter, 
and his light more pure. The Almighty dispenses His 
treasures and His favors as He deems best, and this in 
the moral, no less than in the physical world. In this 
dispensation to nations or to individuals, He always has 
in view the manifestation of His truth, His power, and 
His mercy ; and wherever he kindles a larger share than 
usual of light and fire, wherever the magnitude of His 
gifts is specially remarkable, there has he chosen organs 
of His will, witnesses of His truth, heralds of His science, 
representatives of His glory, and benefactors of man- 
kind. 

In this is the true secret of those wonders of power, 
of virtue, and of genius who appear from time to time 
on earth. It is the Almighty who would make Himself 
known by His envoys, or would act by His instruments; 
and the real glory and happiness of both the last, where 
they are intelligent and free beings, are to codperate 
with their whole strength and their whole will towards 
the great coming of God’s kingdom upon earth, and to- 


FORMATION OF IDEAS 121 


wards the fullest possible realization of His eternal 
ideas. 

In this respect, the same thing is true of the works 
of man’s mind in science, which is true of the acts of 
his will in the practice of beneficence. He cannot do a 
good action without wishing it, and he cannot wish it 
without the exercise of his liberty ; but the inspiration of 
good, which induces him to choose it, and gives him the 
strength to accomplish it, comes not from himself. It is 
a gratuitous gift from the sole Giver of all that is good. 
It is for this reason we are told that, of ourselves, we 
cannot form a good resolution, nor think a good thought, 
nor certainly perform a good action; and, nevertheless, 
we will, we choose, we act freely—for we are responsible. 
In like manner, we can effect nothing of ourselves in the 
conception and expression of our ideas. We stand in 
need of the life of our understanding being perpetually 
renewed; of the life or the impression of objects, pene- 
trating it more or less deeply; of the light, which 
fertilizes, engenders, fosters; in fine, of the life which 
surrounds minds and spirits, as well as bodies—that 
moral atmosphere which calls forth, feeds, and develops 
whatever has motion therein. And amid all this, and 
along with it, is required the energetic codperation of the 
spirit or mind itself, which feels, conceives, thinks, and 
without which nothing human can be accomplished. 

Thus, then, in the order of speculation and for our 
mental productions, as in the moral order, and for the 
accomplishment of our actions, while maintaining our 
freewill, while exercising to the full the activity of our 
intelligences, which have their own rights, lot, and part, 
let us lean above all upon Him who has in Him life it- 
self, who enlightens minds and fertilizes or enriches 


122 FORMATION OF IDEAS 


them, just as he impresses and guides hearts, and Whose 
virtue, in imparting itself to men, becomes the source of 
perfect gifts, of luminous conceptions, of great ideas, as 
well as of good inspirations, holy resolves, and virtuous 
actions. 


CHAPTER XIII 
ARRANGEMENT OF THE PLAN 


EVERYTHING in nature comes in its own time and at the 
predetermined instant. The fruit drops its seed when it 
is ripe and fit. for reproduction, and the child is born 
when the hour has arrived, and when the new being is 
sufficiently organized to live. 

It is thus with the mental production which the orator 
bears in his understanding. There is a moment when 
the idea tends to issue forth from its obscure retreat, in 
order to alight in the world of day, appear in the face 
of the sun, and there unfold itself. 

Only this much difference there is, that the latter pro- 
duction, being intellectual, depends to a certain degree 
upon the freedom of the mind; that, consequently, the 
moment of birth is not, in it, predestinary or necessary, 
as in the physical order, and thus the will of the author 
may hasten or delay it often to the injury of the produc- 
tion and of its development. Premature expression 
(that is, when you seek to reduce to plan an idea which 
is not ripe, and the organization of which is still vague) 
may lead to a failure, or at least to a disappointing off- 
shoot, incapable of life, or capable of only a sickly life 
—a fate which often befalls youthful authors too eager 
to produce. 

But, on the other side, too much delay in the composi- 
tion of the plan, when the idea is ready and demands ex- 
pression, is equally prejudicial to the work, which may 

128 


124 ARRANGEMENT OF PLAN 


wither, perish, and be even stifled in the understanding, 
for want of that air and light which have become indis- 
pensable to its life, and which it can derive only from 
being set in the open day. 

There are men who experience the greatest difficulty 
imaginable in bringing forth their thoughts, either from 
a deficiency of the needful vigor to put them forward 
and invest them with a suitable form, or from a natural 
indolence which is incapable of continued efforts; like 
those plants which will never pierce the soil by their 
own unaided energy, and for which the spade must be 
used at the risk of destroying their tender shoots. This 
sluggishness, or rather incapability of producing when 
the time is come, is a sign of mental feebleness, of a 
species of impotency. It invariably betokens some signal 
defect in the intellectual constitution, and those who are 
afflicted with it will write little, will write that little with 
difficulty, and will never be able to speak extempo- 
raneously in public; they will never be orators. 

“Nevertheless, even in him who is capable of becoming 
one, there is sometimes a certain inertness and laziness. 
We have naturally a horror of labor, and of all kinds 
the labor of thought is the hardest and the most trouble- 
some; so that frequently, for no other reason than to 
avoid the pain which must be undergone, a person long 
keeps in his own head an idea, already perfectly ripe and 
requiring only to be put forth. He cannot bring him- 
self to take up the pen and put his plan into shape; he 
procrastinates, day after day, under the futile pretext 
of not having read enough, not having reflected enough, 
and that the moment is not yet come, and that the work 
will gain by more prolonged studies. Then, by this un- 
seasonable delay, the fruit languishes in the understand- 
ing from want of nourishment; falls by degrees into 


ARRANGEMENT OF PLAN 125 


atrophy, loses its vital force, and dies before it is yet 
born. Many an excellent idea thus perishes in the germ, 
or is stifled in its development by the laziness or the de- 
bility of the minds which have conceived them, and 
which have been impotent to give them forth. 

The Almighty’s gift is lost through man’s fault. This 
happens to men otherwise distinguished and gifted with 
rare qualities, but who dread the responsibilities of duty 
and the pressure of the circumstances in which they may 
become involved. Under pretext of preserving their 
freedom, but really in order to indulge their indolence, 
they shun the necessity of labor, with its demands and 
its fatigues, and thus deprive themselves of the most 
active stimulus of intellectual life. Given up to them- 
selves, and fearing every external influence as a bondage, 
they pass their lives in conceiving without ever pro- 
ducing—in reading without contributing anything of 
their own—in reflecting, or rather in ruminating, with- 
out ever either writing or speaking publicly. It would 
have been happy for such men to have been obliged to 
work for a living; for, in the spur of want their mind 
would have found a spring which it has missed, and the 
necessity of subsisting by labor, or positive hunger, 
would have effected in them what the love of truth or 
of glory was not able to accomplish. 

The very best thing for him who has received the gift 
of eloquence, and who could make an orator, is, there- 
fore, that he should be compelled to become one. The 
labor of eloquence, and the labor of thinking which it 
presupposes, cost so much trouble and are so difficult, 
that save some choice characters, impelled by their 
genius or by ambition, nothing short of some downright 
necessity physical or moral, is requisite to drive men to 
undertake them. 


126 ARRANGEMENT OF PLAN 


But if a man is a professor, and must deliver his lec- 
ture or instructions on some fixed day, and at an ap- 
pointed hour—or a clergyman, and is obliged to mount 
the pulpit at such or such a moment; or a barrister, who 
has to address the court at the time fixed by the judges; 
or member of some council or deliberative assembly, un- 
der an engagement to speak in a certain business, 
then, indeed, a man must be ready, on pain of failing in 
his duty, or of compromising his position, his reputation. 
On such occasions, an effort is made, laziness is shaken 
off, and a man strives in earnest either to fathom the 
question (and this is never done so well as when it is 
necessary to write or to speak thereon), or else tc form 
a clearer notion of it, or, in short, to prepare the best 
exposition of it, with a view to producing conviction and 
persuasion. In this respect, we may say in the words of 
the Gospel, ‘‘Blessed are the poor.’’ Penury or want 
is the keenest spur of the mind and of the will. You are 
forced to bestir yourself and to draw on your inventive 
resources, and in youth especially, which is the most 
favorable time for securing instruction and acquire- 
ments, it is a great happiness to be plucked away by 
necessity from the enticement of pleasure, the dissipa- 
tions of the world, the inactivity of supineness. There 
needs nothing short of this kind of compulsion, and of 
the fear which it inspires, to recall to reflection, medita- 
tion, and the persevering exercise of thought, a soul 
drawn outward by all the senses, athirst for enjoyment, 
and carried away by the superabundance of life (which 
at that age is overflowing) into the external world, there 
to seek for that nourishment and happiness which it will 
not there find. Our own entire youth was passed in that 
violent state, that unceasing conflict between the instinct 
of nature and the duty of toil. For this we know what 


ARRANGEMENT OF PLAN 127 


it costs to achieve the triumph, and what most tends to 
ensure it. 

How ought your plan to be arranged? 

In order to produce or arrange it well, you must take 
your pen in hand. Writing is a whetstone, or flattening 
engine, which wonderfully stretches ideas, and brings 
out all their malleableness and ductility. 

On some unforeseen occasion you may, without doubt, 
after a few moments of reflection, array suddenly the 
plan of your discourse, and speak appropriately and elo- 
quently. This presupposes, in other respects, that you 
are well versed in your subject, and that you have in 
your understanding chains of thought formed by pre- 
vious meditations; for it is impossible to extemporize the 
thoughts, at least during the whole of a discourse. 

But if you have time for preparation, never under- 
take to speak without having put on paper the frame of 
what you have to say, the links of your ideas; and this 
for two reasons:—the first and weightiest is, that you 
thus possess your subject better, and accordingly you 
speak more closely and with less risk of digressions. 
The second is, that when you write down a thought you 
analyze it. The division of the subject becomes clear, 
becomes determinate, and a crowd of things which were 
not before perceived present themselves under the pen. 

Speaking is thinking aloud, but it is more; it is think- 
ing with method and more distinctly, so that in uttering 
your idea you not only make others understand it, but 
you understand it better yourself while spreading it out 
before your own eyes and unfolding it by words. 

Writing adds more still to speech, giving it more 
precision, more fixity, more strictness, and by being 
forced more closely to examine what you wish to write 
down you extract hidden relations, you reach greater 


128 ARRANGEMENT OF PLAN 


depths, wherein may be disclosed rich veins or abundant 
lodes. 

We are able to declare that one is never fully con- 
scious of all that is in one’s own thought, except after 
having written it out. So long as it remains shut up in 
the inside of the mind, it preserves a certain haziness; 
one does not see it completely unfolded; and one cannot 
consider it on all sides, in each of its facets, in each of its 
bearings. 

Again, while it merely flies through the air in words, it 
retains something vague, mobile, and indefinite. Its out- 
lines are loosely drawn, its shape is uncertain, the ex- 
pression of it is more or less precarious, and there is al- 
ways something to be added or withdrawn. It is never 
more than a sketch. Style only gives to thought its just 
expression, its finished form, and perfect manifesta- 
tion. 

Nevertheless, beware of introducing style into the ar- 
rangement of your plan; it ought to be like an artist’s 
draught, the sketch, which, by a few lines unintelligible 
to everybody save him who has traced them, decides what 
is to enter into the composition of the picture, and each 
object’s place. Light and shadow, coloring and expres- 
sion, will come later., Or, to take another image, the 
plan is a skeleton, the dry bone-frame of the body, re- 
pulsive to all except the adept in anatomy, but full of 
interest, of meaning, and of significance for him who has 
studied it and who has practiced dissection; for there 
is not a cartilage, a protuberance, or a hollow, which 
does not mark what that structure ought to sustain—and 
therefore you have here the whole body in epitome, the 
entire organization in miniature. 

Hence, the moment you feel that your idea is mature, 
and that you are master of it in its center and in its 


ARRANGEMENT OF PLAN 129 


radiations, its main or trunk lines, take the pen and 
throw upon paper what you see, what you conceive in 
your mind. If you are young or a novice, allow the pen 
to have its way and the current of thought to flow on. 
There is always life in this first rush, and care should be 
taken not to check its impetus or cool its ardor. Let 
the voleanic lava run; it will become fixed and erystalline 
of itself. 

Make your plan at the first heat, if you be impelled to 
do so, and follow your inspiration to the end; after 
which let things alone for a few days, or at least for sev- 
eral hours. Then re-read attentively what you have 
written, and give a new form to your plan; that is, re- 
write it from one end to the other, leaving only what is 
necessary, what is essential. Eliminate inexorably what- 
ever is accessory or superfluous, and trace, engrave with 
care the leading characteristics which determine the con- 
figuration of the discourse, and contain within their de- 
marcations the parts which are to compass it. Only 
take pains to have the principal features well marked, 
vividly brought out, and strongly connected together, in 
order that the division of the discourse may be clear and 
the links firmly welded. 


CHAPTER XIV 


CHARACTER OF THE PLAN 


THE essential properties of the plan are derivable from 
its very nature. As it is the design of the oratorical 
building, it ought to be drawn with neatness, distributed 
suitably into its compartments, in right proportions, so 
that at one glance the architect, or any sensible person 
versed in this kind of work, should perceive the aim of 
the construction or the idea to be realized, as well as the 
means for attaining it. The plan is a failure if it does 
not suggest to the understanding observer these things. 

First——The drawing depends on the mind, which con- 
celves and thinks, and on the hand, which wields the pen- 
ceil. A design will always bear a sure ratio to the manner 
of feeling, conceiving, and reproducing what is seen in 
nature or what is imagined, and whatever may be the 
dexterity of the hand, if the soul animate it not, if the 
understanding guide it not, it will compose nothing but 
images without life, and copies, exact possibly, yet void 
of expression. By the simplest touch, by one stroke of 
the brush, the whole soul may be revealed; witness that 
great painter who recognized his equal from a single 
line traced by him. 

Now what advice can we give on this head? All the 
precepts in the world will never teach feeling or concep- 
tion. We have said pretty nearly all that can be said, 
when speaking of the conception and formation of ideas. 


But what may indeed be recommended to the inexpe- 
130 


CHARACTER OF THE PLAN 131 


rienced orator is to confine himself in constructing his 
plan to the salient features of his subject, to lay down 
boldly the trunk lines of the discourse, omitting all filling 
up; to draw broadly, with hatchet-strokes, so to say, and 
not to set about punctuating, not to get lost in minutie, 
when the business is to mark out the main ways. 

Another advice which may be given is, to leave nothing 
obscure, doubtful, or vague in these outlines, and to ad- 
mit no feature into his sketch which does not indicate 
something of importance. By practice and the direc- 
tions of a skillful master, he will learn to deal in those 
potent pencilings which express so much in so small a 
space; and this it is which makes extemporization so easy 
and so copious, because each point of the plan becomes 
instinct with life, and by pressing upon it as you pass 
along your discourse makes it a spring gushing with 
luminous ideas and inexhaustible expressions. 

The first etchings of the great masters are sometimes 
more precious in the artist’s eye than their finished pic- 
tures, because they disclose the author’s thoughts more 
unveiled, and the means he has adopted for conveying 
them. And in like manner the young writer will profit- 
ably study the plans of great speakers, in order to learn 
how to model as they did; and what will be still more im- 
proving, he will construct those plans himself from their 
discourses, and by a deep meditation of their master- 
pieces and the intellectual labor which the construc- 
tion just hinted demands, he will get further into their 
innermost thoughts, and will better appreciate the rela- 
tion between those thoughts and the magnificent embodi- 
ment of them. 

Second.—The right distribution of your plan de- 
pends also on your manner of conceiving your subject 
and the end you have in view in your discourse; nor 


132 CHARACTER OF THE PLAN 


have general rules much practical range even here. 
What is required are, good sense, sagacity and tact; 
good sense to see things as they are, in their true light, 
or in their most favorable aspect, so as not to say what 
will not befit the occasion; sagacity, to turn the subject 
over, penetrate it through, analyze it, anatomize it, and 
exhibit it, first on paper, then in speaking; tact, to speak 
appropriately, leave in the shade whatever cannot ap- 
pear without disadvantage, and bring out into strong 
light whatever is most in your favor; to put everything 
in its own place, and to do all this quickly, with neatness, 
clearness, simplicity, so that in the very knot of the state- 
ment of the case may be discerned all the folds and coils 
of the main idea about to be untied and laid forth by the 
discourse. 

An ill-conceived, an ill-divided plan, which does not at 
once land the hearer right in the middle of the subject 
and in full possession of the matter, is rather an en- 
cumbrance than a help. It is a rickety scaffolding which 
will bear nothing. It but loads and disfigures the build- 
ing instead of serving to raise it. 

Third.—Proportion and harmony in its parts con- 
tribute to the beauty of a discourse. In all things beauty 
is the result of variety in unity and of unity in variety. 
It is the necessity of oneness which assigns to each part 
its rank, place, and dimensions. 

Frequently the exordium is too long, and the perora- 
tion interminable. There is little or nothing left for the 
middle; and you get a monster with an enormous head, 
a measureless tail, and a diminutive body. At other 
times it is some limb of the discourse which is lengthened 
until the body of the work is out of sight, the result 
being a shocking deformity, as when a man has long 
arms or legs with a dwarf’s body. The main idea ought 


CHARACTER OF THE PLAN 133 


to come out in each part; the hearer ought to be always 
led back to it by the development of the accessory 
thoughts, however numerous, these having no regular 
vitality save by the sustained circulation through them of 
the former. Should they grow and dilate too much, it 
can only be at the cost of the parent-idea; and they must 
produce deformity and a sort of disease in the discourse, 
like those monstrous exerescences which devour the ani- 
mal as when there is any irregular or excessive growth of 
one organ, through the abnormal congestion of the blood, 
thus withdrawn from the rest of the organization. 

It is chiefly when you have to extemporize that you 
must take the most care of your division, and of the nice 
allotment of all the parts of your plan; one of the disad- 
vantages of extemporization, and perhaps the greatest 
disadvantage being, diffuseness, slowness, and digressive- 
ness, when you trust to the inspiration of the moment, 
excitement of speaking—for you cannot always com- 
mand the result amidst the mass of words and the dis- 
tractions of the imagination. 

You will obviate this danger, as far as may be, by 
strongly determining beforehand the proportion of the 
various parts; and this so clearly and so strikingly as 
never to lose sight of it while speaking, and thus to be 
constantly recalled to it, and to recall the hearer athwart 
the digressions, episodes, or sudden developments which 
may present themselves, and which are not always to be 
excluded; nay, sometimes amidst the emotions of sensi- 
bility or the transports of passion, into which by the 
torrent of extemporization the orator may be hurried. 

Let the plan of the speech, then, be traced with a firm 
hand, distributed with exactitude, and rightly propor- 
tioned in all its members, and then it will be an immense 
help to the speaker whom the suddenness and adventu- 


134 CHARACTER OF THE PLAN 


rousness of extemporization invariably agitates more or 
less. He will then abandon himself with greater confi- 
dence to his inspirations and to the tide of words, when 
he feels a solid ground well known to him beneath his 
feet; and is aware of all its advantages and incon- 
veniences, if he remain always mindful of the end he has 
in view and of the way which leads to it. 


CHAPTER XV 


FINAL PREPARATION BEFORE SPEAKING 


THE plan of a discourse, however well put together, is 
still but a barren letter, or, as we have said, a species of 
skeleton to which flesh and vitality must be given by 
words. It is the discourse potentially, and has to become 
such actually. Now before passing from the power of 
acting to action, and with a view to effecting this pas- 
sage, which at the very moment of executing it is al- 
ways difficult, there is a last preparation not without its 
importance and calculated to conduce largely towards 
success. Thus the soldier gets ready his weapons and 
his resolution before the fight; thus the general makes 
his concluding arrangements after having fixed on his 
order of battle, and in order to carry it well into effect. 
So it is with the speaker at that supreme instant. After 
having fixed his ideas upon paper in a clearly defined 
sketch which is to him a plan of the campaign, he ought, 
a little while before entering the lists or battle field, to 
recollect himself once more in order to gather up all his 
energies, call forth all the powers of his soul, mind, and 
body for the work which he has undertaken, and hold 
them in the spring and direction whither they have to 
rush. This is the culminating point of the preparation, 
a critical moment which is very agitating and very pain- 
ful to whoever is about to speak. We shall proceed to 
depict it, and to show what may then be done towards 


the success of a discourse, by the use of the speaker’s en- 
135 


136 PREPARATION 


tire means, that is, of all his intellectual, moral, and 
physical faculties. For the true orator speaks with his 
entire personality, with all the powers of his being, and 
for that reason, at the moment just preceding his ad- 
dress, he should summon, and marshal, and concentrate 
all his instruments. 


CHAPTER XVI 


FINAL INTELLECTUAL PREPARATION 


Tue plan is written down, but it is outside the mind, it 
is on paper; and although it has issued from the mind, 
still the linking of ideas is a thing so subtile that it easily 
escapes, and especially in the midst of the turmoil in 
which the speaker must take his stand, and which is 
liable to present a thousand distracting contingencies. 
An hour, therefore, or half an hour, or a quarter of an 
hour before speaking, he ought at the last moment to go 
over his plan again silently, review all its parts with 
their connection, settle, in the most definite manner the 
main ideas and the order in which they occur; in a word, 
deeply inscribe or engrave in his imagination what is 
written on the paper, so as to be able to read within 
himself, in his own understanding, and this with cer- 
tainty and without effort, the signs of what he has to 
say. This is, as it were, the internal proof-copy of the 
external manuscript, in order that, without the help of 
notes, he may find the whole array of his ideas upon the 
living tablets of his imagination. For this purpose, he 
sums up that array once again, and epitomizes it in a 
few words which perform the office at once of colors 
and of sign-posts—colors around which are mustered 
fragmentary or incidental thoughts, like soldiers around 
their officer, and sign-posts indicating the road to be fol- 


lowed in order to reach the destination without fail. 
137 


138 FINAL PREPARATION 


Finally, by one supreme exertion of thought, he connects 
all these signs together in order to take in them all at a 
single glance in their respective places and their mutual 
bearings, with a view to the end which the discourse is 
intended to attain; just as a general acts who, as the 
fight begins, looks from some height upon the ordering of 
his army and sees each division and regiment where he 
had appointed them to be. Then, after having pos- 
sessed himself of the whole by means of this glance, he 
holds it as it were in his grasp and can hurl it into 
action according to the plan which he has conceived. It 
is easy to understand that in order to be able to do this, 
the plan must not only have been well conceived and 
well ordered, but clearly written out on paper, so that, 
at a moment of such pressure, a single glance may suf- 
fice to review both as a whole and in its parts. 

In general, the shortest are the best plans, if they be 
well filled and loaded with ideas; and whenever it is 
practicable to reduce all the ideas to one, the various con- 
sequences of which are thus derivatively commanded, 
nothing can be so convenient or so sure. 

This accounts for the fact that one may sometimes 
speak wonderfully well without so much preparation, 
and produce a very great effect. All that is required is 
one idea, of which the speaker is deeply convinced and 
the consequences and applications of which he clearly 
discerns, or else some lively and heart-stirring sentiment; 
and then the light of the idea or the emotion of the feel- 
ing bursts forth into words like the pent-up torrent of a 
reservoir through a fissure in the dam; but the water-shed 
must have been full, and the plenteousness of the inunda- 
tion supposes protracted toil for the previous collection. 
It is thus with the most prompt and copious extemporiza- 
tions ; they are invariably the reservoir of ideas and feel- 


FINAL PREPARATION 139 


ings, prepared and accumulated with time, and rushing 
forth in a discourse. 

In all cases, what is of the first importance is to see all 
the ideas in a single idea, in order to keep up the unity 
of the subject, amidst variety of exposition and the 
multiplicity of representations; for in this consists the 
fine ordering of a speech. Once sure of the leading idea, 
the divisions and sub-divisions must be rapidly in- 
spected. You must proceed from one to the other re- 
fiectively in order to test what they will be worth at the 
decisive instant, and to penetrate them by a last glance 
of the mind—a glance which is never more vigorous or 
more piercing than at that important moment. You 
must act like the general who passes among the ranks be- 
fore the signal is given, and who assures himself by the 
mien of his troops that they will behave well, while he 
excites their courage by words of fire, and pours fresh 
spirit and boldness into their hearts. He too has his 
picked troops on whom he relies more than on the rest, 
and these picked troops are to act at the crisis of the 
fight. He keeps them in reserve to decide the victory, 
and he is aware beforehand of all the power with which 
they furnish him. 

So, among the various thoughts which make up a dis- 
course; and in their array, there are some better cal- 
culated than the others to strike the imagination and to 
move the soul: some stirring picture, some unusually in- 
teresting narrative, some convincing proof, some motive 
which will carry away the hearer’s decision; and the like. 
The orator, during his final preparation, distinguishes 
and places in reserve these resources. He arranges them 
appropriately so as to bring them in at such a part of his 
discourse; and without fully fathoming them before it is 
time, he keeps them under his eye, well knowing that 


140 FINAL PREPARATION 


here are wells of living water which shall gush forth 
when he desires it, at a touch of the sounding rod. Upon 
such means the success of a speech generally turns, as 
the winning of a battle upon a charge opportunely 
made. 

Only care must be taken not to confound these re- 
serves of zdea, these well husbanded resources, with what 
are called hits of eloquence or effective phrases. These 
last devices which sometimes fling a brilliant radiance 
over a speech by a semblance of originality, by eccentric 
perceptions, by far-fetched approximations, and above all 
by strangeness of expression, run the risk almost invari- 
ably of sacrificing sense to sound, substance to form, and 
of superseding depth of thought and warmth of feeling 
by sound of words and an exaggerated oratorical de- 
livery. You get to aim at effect, that is, at astonishing 
your hearers and making them admire you; you there- 
fore use every means of dazzling and confounding them, 
which is nearly always done at the expense of your sub- 
ject’s truthfulness and of your own dignity. Besides, 
aS you cannot extemporize these effective phrases, be- 
cause the effect depends on a certain combination of 
words very difficult to arrange and spoilt if a single 
word be amiss, you have to compose these phrases before- 
hand, learn them by heart and know them literally; and 
even then you have still to get them into your discourse 
and to prepare their admission, in order that they may 
make a brilliant appearance and produce the wished-for 
effect. The consequence is that you convey them from a 
greater or a smaller distance with more or less artifice 
and disguise, so that a part of the exposition is devoted 
to clearing the way for them, and to marshaling their 
entry on the boards—a process which necessarily en- 
tails fillings-up, gaps, and lengthiness of various pas- 


FINAL PREPARATION 141 


sages respectively. And, indeed, these brilliant hits 
which discharge a great amount of sparks, and a small 
amount of either light or heat, are for the most part pur- 
chased at the price of the truthfulness as well as the in- 
terest of the discourse. It is a fire-work display which 
dazzles and charms for a moment, only to plunge you in 
thick darkness again. 

This is not a genuine nor moving eloquence; it is the 
parody of eloquence and a mere parade of words; if I 
may dare to say so, a sort of oratorical charlatanry. 
Woe to the speaker who makes use of such means! He 
will speedily exhaust himself by the mental efforts to find 
out new effects, and his addresses, aiming at the sublime 
and the extraordinary, will become often ludicrous, al- 
ways impotent. 

Nor must you rely on the notes which you may carry 
in your hand to help you in the exposition and save you 
from breaking down. Doubtless, they may have their 
utility, especially in business speaking, as at the bar, 
at the council board, or in a deliberative assembly. 
Sometimes they are even necessary to remember facts 
or to state figures. They are the material part, the bag- 
gage of the orator, and he should lighten them and disen- 
cumber himself of their burden, to the utmost of his 
power. In truth, on the very occasions when it should 
seem you would have most need of them, they are totally 
worthless. In the most fervid moments of extempo- 
raneous speaking, when light teems, and the sacred fire 
burns, when the mind is hurried along upon the tide of 
thoughts, and the tongue, obedient to its impulse, ac- 
commodates itself in a wonderful manner to its opera- 
tions and lavishes the treasures of expression, everything 
should proceed from within. The mind’s glance is bent 
inwards, absorbed by the subject and its ideas; you dis- 


142 FINAL PREPARATION 


tinguish none of the external objects, and you can no 
longer even read your notes on the paper. You see the 
lines without understanding them, and they become an 
embarrassment instead of a help. Nothing so thoroughly 
freezes the oratorical flow as to consult those wretched 
notes. Nothing is so inimical to the prestige of elo- 
quence; it forthwith brings down to the common earth 
both the speaker and his audience. 

Try then, when you have to speak, to carry all things 
in yourself, like Bias the philosopher, and after having, 
to the best of your ability, conscientiously prepared, al- 
low yourself, filled with your subject, to be borne along 
by the current of your ideas and the tide of words, and 
above all by the Spirit from on High who enlightens and 
inspires. He who cannot speak except with notes, knows 
not how to speak, and knows not even what speaking is; 
just as the man of lore who is so only with his books 
around him, is not so truly, and knows not even what 
learning is. 

In fine, you must distrust all methods of mnemonics 
or artificial memory, intended to localize and to fagot 
together in your imagination the different parts of your 
address. Cicero and Quintilian recommend them, I 
think, in moderation; be it so, but let it be in the strictest 
possible moderation. For it is putting the mechanism of 
form in the stead of the organization of thoughts—substi- 
tuting arbitrary and conventional links for the natural 
association of ideas; at the very least, it is introducing 
into the head an apparatus of signs, forms, or images 
which are to serve as a support to the discourse, and 
which must needs burden, obscure, and hamper the 
march of it. 

If your address be the expression of an idea fraught 
with life, it will develop itself naturally, as plants 


FINAL PREPARATION 143 


germinate, as animals grow, through the sustained action 
of a vital force, by an incessant organic operation, by the 
effusion of a living principle. It ought to issue from the 
depths of the soul, as the stream from its spring—ezx 
abundantia cordis os loquitur, ‘‘out of the fullness of the 
heart the mouth speaketh.’’ 

But a heart there must be; and in that heart a full- 
ness of feeling, manifesting itself by a plenitude of ideas, 
which will give in its turn plenitude of expression. The 
mouth speaks with ease when the heart is full; but if it is 
empty, the head takes its office, and it is the head which 
has recourse to these artificial means, for want of the in- 
spiration which fails it. It is the resource of rhetori- 
cians. 


CHAPTER XVII 


FINAL MORAL PREPARATION 


WHEN you at last are in possession of your plan, and 
have engraved it upon your understanding, in the man- 
ner we have just said, you must try to remain calm and 
collected. This is not always so easy, on account of the 
place where you have to speak, at the bar, for instance, 
or in a public scene, or a deliberative assembly. You 
are not in such cases free to choose your own moment, 
and you have to be ready for the occasion. You may 
have to wait long for your turn, and till then there occur 
unavoidable distractions, from which you must keep 
yourself safe. If the will reject them, the mind remains 
self-possessed, and may even preserve its collectedness 
amidst the most varied scenes, which indeed may touch 
the senses, without disturbing the mind. 

But if you have it in your power to remain in soli- 
tude until the moment for speaking, as generally hap- 
pens to the preacher and the lecturer, it is well to avoid 
all external excitement which might change the current 
of the thoughts, and drive your attention into another 
channel. You should then take refuge within the depth 
of yourself, as in a sanctuary where the Almighty has de- 
signed to manifest Himself since your object in speaking 
is but to announce the truth, and the Almighty is Truth 
itself. 

I do not speak here of those men who discourse solely 


in the interests of passion or of party, and whose object 
144 


FINAL PREPARATION 145 


is not the triumph of what is true, but merely the gain 
of some success, some advantage, conducive to their am- 
bition, their pride, or their avarice. These men will 
never be orators in the proper sense of the word—vir 
bonus dicendi peritus; for language ought not to be used 
except in the interests of truth—to employ it for any 
other end is to make of it a commodity or a traffic. 

If in the stage which we are depicting, the soul of him 
who is about to speak be liable to feel variously affected, 
according to the variety of character, predisposition, and 
momentary state, sometimes, after the final preparation 
is over, it perceives that it possesses its subject, that it is 
master of it, so far as this may be, and it then expe- 
riences a certain sense of security which is not without 
sweetness. A mind in this state need think no more of 
anything, but may remain passive and repose itself ere 
proceeding to action. It has sometimes happened to my- 
self to fall asleep while awaiting the summons to the pul- 
pit, to lose consciousness, at least, and to awake re- 
freshed. 

At other times, and indeed more frequently, a man is 
restless and agitated. The chest is weighted with a 
heavy burden which checks the breathing, makes the 
limbs sore, and oppresses all the faculties of mind and 
body. This is an extremely painful state, especially if 
a man has to speak on a grave occasion, on a solemn 
day, and in the Christian pulpit. One is conscious then 
that there is a divine duty to be discharged, and there 
is a fear of proving unfaithful or unequal to it; one 
feels the full weight of responsibility before God. It 
is a truly agonizing sensation, in which several feelings 
are blended, and which it may not be useless to analyze, 
in order to distinguish what it comprises that is legit- 
imate, that is advantageous to an orator, and, on the 


146 FINAL PREPARATION 


contrary, what is amiss in it and liable to do him harm. 

In the first place, it is to be noted that this fright, 
experienced by him who is on the point of speaking, is 
salutary, at least to a certain extent. It is evident that 
if it goes to the length of paralyzing the orator, or of 
impairing the use of his means, it is inconvenient and 
fatal. But those whom it is able thus to crush will 
never be capable of speaking in public, as we have already 
observed in the case of two celebrated writers, admirable 
for their style and powerless in harangue. 

Woe to him who experiences no fear before speaking 
in public! It shows him to be unconscious of the im- 
portance of the function which he is about to discharge 
—that he does not understand what truth is, whose 
apostle he himself should be, or that he little cares, and 
that he is not animated by that sacred fire which comes 
down from heaven to burn in the soul. I except alto- 
gether the Propheis, the Apostles of Jesus Christ, all who 
speak under supernatural inspiration, and who have 
been told that they must not prepare what they shall 
say when they shall stand before the powerful and the 
arbiters of the world, for that all they should say shall 
be given to them at the time itself. 

It is not for men like these that we write. The AIl- 
mighty, whose instruments they are, and who fills them 
with His Spirit, makes them act and speak as He 
pleases, and to them the resources of human experience 
are entirely unnecessary. They never are afraid, be- 
cause He who is truth and light is with them, and speaks 
by them. But others are not afraid because their en- 
lightenment is small and their self-assurance great. 
They are unconscious of the sacredness of their task and 
of their ministry, and they go forward like children who, 
knowing not what they do, play with some terrible 


FINAL PREPARATION 147 


weapon, and with danger itself. The most valiant 
troops always feel some emotion at the first cannon shot, 
and I have heard it stated that one of the most celebrated 
generals of the empire—who was even called ‘‘the brav- 
est of the brave,’’ was always obliged to dismount from 
his horse at that solemn moment; after which he rushed 
like a lion into the battle. Braggarts, on the contrary, 
are full of assurance before the engagement, and give 
way during the action. 

So is it with those fine talkers, who think themselves 
competent to undertake any subject and to face any 
audience, and who, in the excellent opinion which they 
entertain of themselves, do not even think of making 
any serious preparation. After a few phrases uttered 
with confidence, they hesitate, they break down, or if 
they have sufficient audacity to push forward amidst the 
confusion of their thoughts and the incoherency of their 
discourse, they twaddle without understanding their 
own words, and drench their audience with their inex- 
haustible volubility. 

It is well then to feel somewhat afraid ere speaking, 
first in order that you may not lightly expose yourself 
to the trial, and that you may be spared the mortifica- 
tion; and, in the second place, still more particularly, 
if you are obliged to speak, in order that you may ma- 
turely consider what you should say, seriously study 
your subject, penetrate it, become master of it, and thus 
be able to speak usefully to a public audience. 

The fear in question is also useful in making the 
speaker feel his want of help from above, such as shall 
give him the adequate light, strength, and vividness of 
life. All men who have experience in public speaking, 
and who have ever themselves been eloquent, know how 
much they have owed to the inspiration of the moment, 


148 FINAL PREPARATION 


and to that mysterious power which gives it. It is pre- 
cisely because a man may have sometimes received this 
efficacy from above, rendering him superior to himself, 
that he dreads being reduced to his own strength in that 
critical situation, and so to prove beneath the task which 
he has to accomplish. 

This fear which agitates the soul of a person about to 
speak has also another and a less noble cause, which 
unfortunately prevails in the majority of instances; that 
is, self-love—vanity, which dreads falling below oneself 
and below the expectations of men—a desire of success 
and of applause. Public speaking is a singularly con- 
spicuous sort of thing, exposing a person to all manner 
of observations. Doubtless there is no harm in seeking 
the esteem of one’s fellows, and the love of a good repu- 
tation is an honorable motive of action, capable of pro- 
ducing excellent effects. But carried too far, it becomes 
a love of glory, a passion to make a dazzling appearance, 
and to cause oneself to become the theme of talk—and 
then, like all other passions, it is ready to sacrifice truth, 
justice, and good to its own gratification or success. 

Nothing can be better than that the orator should en- 
deavor to please and satisfy his audience; that desire 
will impel him to noble exertions and the exercise of all 
his means; but that, while actually speaking, such an 
end should engross him above everything else, and that 
the care of his own glory should agitate him more than 
any love of the truths which he has to announce, or of 
the souls of the hearers whom he should enlighten and 
edify—this, I say, is a gross abuse, a perversion of the 
talent and of the ministry intrusted to him by Provi- 
dence, and sooner or later will bring him to grief. This 
inordinate attention to himself and his success agitates, 
disturbs, and makes him unhappy—too often inciting 


FINAL PREPARATION 149 


him to exaggerations for the sake of effect. In taking 
from him simplicity it takes his right sense, his tact, his 
good taste, and he becomes displeasing by dint of striv- 
ing to please. 

Yet far from us be the idea of condemning a love of 
glory in the orator, and especially in the lay orator. 
While still young a man needs this spur, which some- 
times produces prodigies of talent and of labor; and it 
may safely be affirmed that a very great progress must 
have been made in wisdom and perfection to dispense 
with it altogether. Even where it ought to have the 
least influence, it still too often has sway, and the min- 
ister of the holy Word, who ought to be inspired by 
the Spirit from on High, and to refer exclusively to 
God all that he may do, has much difficulty in preserv- 
ing himself indifferent te the praises of men, seeking 
these praises only too often, and thus making self, al- 
most unconsciously, the end of his speaking and of his 
success. In such a case the movements of nature and 
of grace get mingled in his heart, and it is hard to dis- 
tinguish and separate them. This is the reason why so 
many deceive themselves, and why picty itself has its 
illusions. 

If it is good to entertain some fear before speaking, 
it would nevertheless be prejudicial to entertain too 
much: first, because a great fear disturbs the power of 
expression; and secondly, because if it does not proceed 
from timidity of character, it often springs from ex- 
cessive self-love, from too violent an attachment to 
praise, or from the passion of glory, which overcomes the 
love of truth. Here is that which one should try to 
combat and to abate in oneself. The real orator should 
have but what is true in view; he should blot himself 
out in presence of the truth and make it alone appear— 


150 FINAL PREPARATION 


as happens naturally, spontaneously, whenever he is pro- 
foundly impressed by it, and identifies himself with it, 
heart and mind. Then he grows like it, great, mighty, 
and dazzling. It is no longer he who lives, it is the 
truth which in him lives and acts; his language is truly 
inspired ; the man vanishes in the virtue of the Almighty 
who manifests himself by His organ—and this is the 
speaker’s noblest, his true glory. Then are wrought the 
miracles of eloquence which turn men’s wills and 
change their souls. Such is the end at which the Chris- 
tian orator should aim. He should try to dwarf him- 
self, to annihilate himself, as it were, in his discourse, in 
order to allow Him whose minister he is to speak and to 
work—a result oftenest attained when the speaker thinks 
he has done nothing on account of his too fervent and 
too natural desire to do a great deal. 

Oh, you who have taken the Lord for your inheritance, 
and who prefer the light and service of Heaven to all 
the honors and all the works of earth—you, particu- 
larly, who are called to the Apostleship, and who glow 
with the desire to announce to men the word of God! 
remember that here, more than anywhere else, virtue 
consists in disinterestedness, and power in abnegation 
of self. Endeavor to see in the triumphs of eloquence, 
if they be granted you one thing only—the glory of 
God. If you have the gift of touching the souls of 
others, seek one thing only—to bring them, or bring 
them back, to God. For this end repress, stifle within 
your heart, the natural movements of pride, which, since 
the days of sin, would attribute all things to itself, even 
the most manifest and the most precious gifts; and each 
time that you have to convey to the people the Word 
of Heaven, ask urgently of God the grace to forget your- 
self, and to think of Him and of Him only. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


BODILY PREPARATION 


THE body also requires to be prepared in a certain man- 
ner before a harangue. It should be subjected to a 
sort of magnetism, as the phrase runs in these days; 
and the orator who knows the difficulties and the re- 
sources of his art will take very good care not to under- 
take a speech, unless he is compelled by circumstances 
to do so, without making his arrangements in this re- 
spect too. 

Let it not be forgotten that the body plays its part 
in all that we do, even in the most abstract thoughts and 
the most exquisite feelings. We are not angels, and the 
human soul can not act here below without the codpera- 
tion of the organization to which it is united, and which 
forms an essential part of its personality. The Ego, in 
truth, is applicable to the functions of the body no less 
than to those of the mind. A man says: ‘‘J walk, J eat, 
I digest,’’ as he says, ‘‘I think, I wish, I love’’; and 
although the organs have an inferior office in human 
actions, yet that office is sufficiently considerable for 
the organs to promote or to impede those actions in a 
signal manner. The body then should be well disposed 
in order that the intellectual and moral functions may 
be properly performed, and that they may not experi- 
ence a hindrance where they ought to find an assistance. 
In the first place, the general state of the health ought 


to be good, or at least tolerable, in order that the think- 
151 


152 BODILY PREPARATION 


ing power may enjoy instruments ready to receive its 
impulses, and the will be able easily to set them in mo- 
tion. 

A man speaks with difficulty when suffering. Life 
is then checked, and, so to say, absorbed by the organs, 
which diverts it from intellectual action, or at least 
weakens its activity in that respect. One may, doubt- 
less, by an effort of the will, excited by circumstances, 
do violence to the rebellion or inertness of the body, and 
hurl it into action—but never without great fatigue, an 
exhaustion of one’s strength, and, later, its indisposition 
and its decay entail a painful reaction after this unrea- 
sonable soaring, so that the higher the previous eleva- 
tion, the deeper the subsequent fall. Now the orator 
ought to spare a servant so necessary to him, just as an 
accomplished rider treats the generous steed whom he 
might ruin on a single occasion by over urging him. 

The orator should have a strong constitution; he 
should have a sound head, a good digestion, and, above 
all, a robust chest, for nothing is so fatiguing or so ex- 
hausting as declamation when long continued. I speak 
of oratorical declamation, which brings simultaneously 
into action the whole person, moral and physical—the 
head, all the economy of which is strained to the utter- 
most by extemporization; the lungs, which inhale and 
respire with violence, frequently with a shock and a 
gulp, according to the discourse; the larynx which is ex- 
panded and contracted precipitately; the nervous sys- 
tem which is wound up to the highest degree of sensi- 
bility ; the muscular system which is keenly agitated by 
the oratorical stage-play from the sole of the foot to the 
tips of the fingers; and, finally, the blood which warms, 
boils, makes heart and arteries beat with quick strokes, 
and shoots fire through the whole organization, till the 


BODILY PREPARATION 153 


humors of the body evaporate and stream in drops of 
perspiration along the surface of the skin. Judge from 
this whether, in order to bear such fatigue, health and 
vigor be required. 

Nevertheless, there is an illusion against which you 
must be on your guard; it is that of thinking yourself 
ill when you have to speak in public, and to mistake for 
inability the often very sensible indisposition which you 
experience when called upon for a discourse, either 
through the indolenee which is deterred by labor and 
fatigue, or on account of the extreme emotion which is 
felt at the thought of appearing in public, an emotion 
which produces on the body, and on the bowels espe- 
cially, an effect reacting all over you. Your arms and 
legs hang dead, you can hardly drag yourself along, or 
even stand upright. There is an oppression of the 
respiration, a weight on the chest, and a man experi- 
ences, in a fashion sometimes very burdensome, what 
was felt by the bravest of the brave at the first cannon- 
shot. Many a time do I remember having found my- 
self in this state at the moment for mounting the pulpit 
and while waiting for my summons. Could I have only 
fled away without shame, most assuredly I should have 
made off, and I envied the lot of those poor creatures 
who think of nothing or of no great matter, and who 
know not these agonies and lacerations. 

They who have not the strength to overcome these 
temptations and discouragements will never know how 
to speak. They will not even have the courage to ex- 
pose themselves to such trials, I may as well say it, they 
amount occasionally to such a torture that a man in- 
voluntarily compares himself to a convict dragged to the 
gallows. Those who have known this state and tri- 
umphed over it are aware that I do not exaggerate. 


154 BODILY PREPARATION 


Strange! It proves the contradictions which exist in 
man as he is, whose original constitution has been over- 
thrown by sin which has set in opposition to each other, 
in one and the same person, the various elements which 
ought to harmonize in the unity of a single life. You 
wish and you do not wish simultaneously; body is at 
war with the mind, and their laws come into collision 
and into conflict. The soul, enlightened by divine truth, 
touched by charity, transported by the Spirit of God, 
or by the love of glory, desires to proclaim what it sees, 
knows, believes, feels, even in the teeth of contradiction, 
and at the cost of the greatest fatigue, nay, sometimes 
of the sharpest sufferings; but the body, like some un- 
broken beast, refuses to the utmost of its power, and you 
cannot get it along save with a bloody spur. It resists 
with all its might, takes every opportunity of evasion, 
every opportunity to shake off the reins which rule it 
and control its movements. A man of spirit would 
afterwards be inconsolable that he should have shrunk 
at the moment of appearing in public, if duty obliges 
him like a soldier, for having wavered at the beginning 
of the action; and yet, in the former case, I can bear 
witness, and perhaps in the latter—I know it not—a man 
would, a hundred times over, surrender his task ere 
undertaking it—if he dared. 

I know but one effectual remedy for this fear—the 
remedy I have already indicated; it is never to mount 
platform or pulpit, save on the call of conscience alone 
—to fulfill a duty, and to put aside whatever is merely 
personal—glory, reputation, public opinion—whatever 
relates to self. A man then goes forward as a victim 
of duty, resigned to the sacrifice, and seeking only the 
glory of Him to whom the sacrifice is offered. You 
never succeed better than under these conditions, and 


BODILY PREPARATION 155 


everybody is a gainer; the speaker, in calmness, dignity, 
and simplicity—the audience, in a loftier and more pene- 
trating address, because it is untainted by selfishness and 
almost above what is merely human. 

Some persons calculate upon giving themselves cour- 
age by stimulating drinks or by a generous nourishment. 
A strange sort of courage that! In war, where physical 
force predominates, I can conceive such a thing—and it 
is a resource not to be disdained before a battle; but as 
our business is a battle of eloquence, that is of the 
subtilest, most intelligent, and most mental element that 
ean be imagined, there is need of another spirit rather 
than the spirit of alcohol or of wine to stimulate the 
faculties and warm the heart. Orators who have re- 
course to such means in order to become capable of mov- 
ing their hearers, will never get beyond the sphere of 
the imagination and of the senses, and if they ever have 
any eloquence, it will be that of the clubs, the taproom, 
and the ecrossroads—an eloquence which has a power 
of its own, but in the interest of evil passions. 

Finally, in a physical respect, there are precautions 
to be taken, relatively to such and such an organ which, 
from its habitual weakness, or its irritated state may 
need repose or strengthening. In this, each person must 
manage according to his temperament, constitution, and 
habits. Some are unable to speak fasting, and no won- 
der; for it js indispensable to be well supported against 
a fatigue so great. The voice is weakened, broken by 
inanition or an empty stomach. 

Others, again, can not speak after a meal, and this 
too is intelligible; because the labor of thinking draws 
the blood to the head, and defrauds the stomach of it, 
thus stopping digestion—so that the blood throbs vio- 
lently in the head and produces giddiness. As in all 


156 BODILY PREPARATION 


other earthly cases, the right course here is the middle 
eourse. You should have had nourishment, but in mod- 
eration; and you should not speak, except before diges- 
tion has begun its labor, or else after it has so far pro- 
ceeded as not to be any longer lable to be arrested. 

Every one must settle his own regimen of health in 
this matter, and nobody can know what will agree with 
him so well as the speaker himself. He will therefore 
do as did the athletes of old, who underwent a most rig- 
orous discipline in order that they might be masters of 
their whole strength at the moment of conflict; and if 
they had this resolution who contend in mere bodily 
strifes, and for perishable garlands, what ought not the 
wrestlers of eloquence to undergo, whom the Almighty 
calls to the battles of intelligence, to the proclamation 
and the defense of truth, of justice, of excellence, of 
the noblest of things of both heaven and earth, and to 
a share in their deathless glory! 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE DISCOURSE 


WE have said how the orator should prepare in mind, 
heart, and even body, for the great work of addressing 
others; let us now follow him to his field of action at 
the moment when he is about to establish truth, or com- 
bat error with the sword of eloquence. This is the sol- 
emn moment of battle. 

For the sake of greater clearness we will divide this 
consideration into six points, and arrange under that 
number of heads all that we have to say that may be 
the most useful. We do not aim in this laying down 
any inviolable order, but merely at having a frame to 
unite and connect our remarks, our reflections, and the 
results of our experience; for we must here repeat that 
we have had no intention of writing a treatise on the 
oratorical art; our object being merely to give an ac- 
count to others of what we have done ourselves, and 
of how we have done it. 

We shall speak serially: first, of the beginning of the 
discourse, or exordium; secondly, of the entry upon the 
subject, or start; thirdly, of the realization of the plan, 
or the exposition and the progression of the ideas; 
fourthly, of the supreme (all decisive) moment of the 
discourse; fifthly, of the peroration; sixthly, of ora- 
torical action. 


157 


CHAPTER XX 


THE BEGINNING OR EXORDIUM 


I term the beginning everything which the orator utters 
from the moment he opens his mouth to the moment 
when he not merely shows the object of his discourse, 
but enters into and develops his subject. ‘‘What I 
know best 1s my opening,’’ says the confidant in the 
comedy of the Plaideurs. This is true of him who re- 
cites a written discourse; it is not true of him who ex- 
temporizes. His opening is that which he knows worst, 
because he is not yet under way and he has to get so. 

I am well aware that it is in one’s power to write 
one’s exordium and learn it by heart. It is a useful 
practice in certain cases, and for persons who have the 
habit of blending written with extemporary passages, 
and of stepping alternately from what they have learnt 
by heart to what they unfold that very instant from 
their minds. There are speakers who go through this 
process remarkably well, and who contrive to produce an 
effect chiefly by declamation prepared beforehand. I 
do not blame them for it. The art of speaking is so 
difficult that you must do in each position what you 
can, and all is well that ends well. Besides, as in every 
applied theory, the art must be made to fit the talents 
of each practitioner. Minds are so various, that what 
suits one does not suit another—so that here no abso- 
lute laws exist. 


Nevertheless I believe I may assert that the true ora- 
158 


THE COMMENCEMENT 159 


tor—that is, he who does not recite, but who speaks— 
is not inclined to employ this process, and hardly finds 
it answer when he has recourse to it. The very most 
he can do is to prepare his first sentence, and if he tries 
to learn a whole exordium he generally entangles him- 
self, gets confused, and fares worse than if he had spoken. 
Even in his exordium he needs the freedom of his paces 
—the one thing indispensable is to keep well before his 
mind the exact enunciation of his subject, and as rigor- 
ous and simple a formula as possible of the idea which 
he has to exhibit. Here should be no vagueness nor 
obscurity, but a clear intuition and an unhesitating ex- 
pression. It is in this that the majority of would-be 
extemporizers fail, because, for want of reflection and 
meditation, they know clearly neither the object of their 
discourse nor the way to treat it. They perceive it in 
the gross or approximately, and thereupon they utter 
commonplaces, empty generalities, and turn continu- 
ally around and about their subject, without ever once 
going into it. 

Those who speak are in quite a different position at 
starting from that of persons who recite. They are gen- 
erally weak and rather obscure in the opening, whereas 
the others appear strong and brilliant. But it is the 
same with whatever has life in nature. Life always 
opens by an obscure point, hardly perceptible, and pro- 
ceeds from darkness to light. According to Genesis, all 
things were created from night to morning. But life 
grows and assumes organization little by little, and 
finally it blooms into all its magnificence. So with the 
spoken address, which is a something endued with life, 
it is born, it grows, it assumes organization in the hear- 
er’s presence. 

For this reason, the speaker ought to begin softly, 


160 THE COMMENCEMENT 


modestly, and without any pompous announcement of 
what is to follow. The grain of mustard-seed, which is 
the smallest of seeds, produces a great tree in which the 
birds of heaven come and take shelter. 

The exordium of an extemporaneous discourse ought 
to be the simplest thing in the world. Its principal use 
is in laying the subject well down and in giving a 
glimpse of the idea which has to be developed. 

Unquestionably, if circumstances require it, you may 
also introduce certain oratorical precautions—insinua- 
tions, commendations, and a delicate and supple mind 
always finds a way to insert these things. But, gen- 
erally they clog that mind, because they are outside of 
its idea and may divert it from the idea; and as the 
expressions are not ready made, the mind runs a risk 
of being carried away from its subject at the first start, 
and of missing its plan. 

For the same reason, the speaker’s voice will be mod- 
erate, nay a little weak at first, and it may happen, at 
least in a vast audience, that his first expressions are 
not heard, or are heard ill. This is of course an incon- 
venience, but it cannot be helped, and it is not without 
its advantages. 

It can not be helped, or can scarcely be so, because as 
he who extemporizes carries all his ideas in his brain, 
and is never quite sure of his language, he always gets 
into the pulpit or upon the platform in a state of deep 
emotion. Now it is out of the question to bawl when 
in that state, and it is the most one can do to find voice 
at all; the mouth is dry, the tongue cleaves to the palate 
—‘vox faucibus heret’’—and one can hardly articulate. 

Besides, should the orator force his voice in the be- 
ginning, it will be presently rendered hoarse, broken, 
exhausted, and it will fail him before a quarter of an 


THE COMMENCEMENT 161 


hour. You must speak neither too loudly nor too fast 
at first; or else the violent and rapid expansions and 
contractions of the larynx force it and falsify it. You 
must husband your voice at starting in order that it may 
last and maintain itself to the end. When you gradu- 
ally strengthen and animate it, it does not give way— 
it remains clear, strong, and pleasing to the close of your 
harangue. Now this is a very important particular for 
speaker and for hearers; for the former, because he keeps 
sound and powerful the instrument without which he 
ean do nothing; for the latter, because nothing tires them 
more than hoarse, obstreperous, and _ ill-articulated 
sounds. 

The inconvenience in question has the further advan- 
tage of establishing silence among the audience, espe- 
cially if it is considerable and diffused over a vast space, 
as in churches. At the beginning of a sermon, there 
is always noise; people taking their places, chairs or 
benches turning, coughs, pocket handkerchiefs, mur- 
murs, a hubbub more or less protracted, which is un- 
avoidable in a large assembly of persons settling them- 
selves. But if you speak low, softly, and the audience 
sees you speak, without hearing you, it will make haste 
to be still that it may listen, and all ears will be directed 
more eagerly towards the pulpit. In general, men es- 
teem only what they have not, or what they dread los- 
ing, and the Avords which they fear they shall not be 
able to catch, become more valuable. 

For the same reason, again, the bearing of the ex- 
temporaneous speaker is modest and even somewhat 
abashed, as he presents himself in the pulpit, or on the 
platform; for he almost invariably mounts thither as to 
the place of torture, so full is he of anguish, so heavy 
feels the burden of speaking. Nevertheless, he must be- 


162 THE COMMENCEMENT 


ware of allowing his agitation to be too apparent, and 
above all of affecting the victim. For the rest, if he be 
a true orator, his countenance, as well as interior feel- 
ings, will soon change. He will hardly have pronounced 
a few sentences ere all his confusion will vanish, the 
mind will assert its superiority and sway the body. 
Once face to face, and at grappling point with his idea, 
he will forget everything else. He will no longer see 
anything save the thought which he has to manifest, the 
feeling of his heart which he has to communicate. His 
voice, which just now was so tremulous and broken, will 
acquire assurance, authority, brilliancy; if he is rightly 
inspired that day, if light from on high beams in his 
intelligence and warms his soul, his eyes will shoot light- 
ning, and his voice the thunderbolt; his countenance will 
shine like the sun, and the weakness of humanity will 
undergo its transfiguration. He will stand on the 
Mount Tabor of eloquence. 


CHAPTER XxXI 
ENTRANCE INTO THE SUBJECT 


Arter the exordium, which should clearly and briefly 
lay down the theme of the discourse, as well as its divi- 
sion, if there is occasion, the business must be entered 
upon and the development begun. 

This is perhaps the hardest part of extemporaneous 
speaking, and that in which it offers most disadvantages. 
The point is to get out of harm, and there is but a nar- 
row passage which it is easy to miss. A favorable wind 
is necessary to waft you into the open sea. Many are 
wrecked in this passage, and know not how to get out 
into the open sea of their subject. 

In writing you have time for reflection, and can ar- 
range at leisure the sequence of your ideas. Neverthe- 
less, everybody knows what trouble this arrangement 
often costs, and how great the perplexity is in catching 
the exact thread of unravelment, and in distinguishing 
amidst several ideas that which commands the rest and 
will open a way for them, as a principle has its conse- 
quences and a cause its effects. Sometimes whole hours 
are consumed in seeking the end of the chain, so as to 
unroll it suitably, and too often, as when trying to dis- 
entangle a skein of thread, you proceed awkwardly and 
you complicate, instead of unraveling. This is one of 
the chief annoyances of those who want to write, espe- 
cially in the period of impatient, fancy-ridden youth, 
when one readily mistakes whatever glitters or produces 

163 


164 ENTRANCE INTO SUBJECT 


effect for the main point and the thing essential. <A 
rare sagacity, or else much reflection and matureness 
are requisite to catch, at the first glance, the true serial 
connection of ideas, and to put everything in its right 
place, without groping and without unsuccessful trials. 

What then, if you must decide on the spot, without 
hesitation, without being able ‘‘to try,’’ before an audi- 
ence, which has its eyes riveted upon you, its ears in- 
tent, and its expectation eagerly awaiting the words 
that are to fall from your lps? The slightest delay is 
out of the question, and you must rush into the arena, 
often but half accoutered or ill armed. The moment 
is come, you must begin to speak, even though you do 
not exactly know what you are going to say, nor whether 
what you shall say will lead precisely to the passage 
which leads into the open sea. There is here a critical 
instant for the orator, an instant which will decide the 
fate of his discourse. 

No doubt he has prepared the sequence of his 
thoughts, and he is in possession of his plan. But this 
plan comprises only the leading ideas stationed widely 
apart, and in order to reach the first station from the 
starting point, there is a rush to make and an aim to 
take, and therein lies the difficulty. The best way is to 
go with resolution straight to the heart of your subject, 
the main idea, and to disembowel it, so to speak, in order 
to get forth its entrails and lay them out. But a man 
has not always the courage and the strength; besides 
which, he is afraid of being deficient in materials if he 
makes short work with his exposition, and thus of break- 
ing down after a while, without having filled up the 
time assigned or run his due course. This is a common 
illusion among beginners. They are always in dread of 
wanting sufficient materials, and either in their plan, or 


ENTRANCE INTO SUBJECT 165 


in their discourse, they heap up all manner of things, 
and end by being lengthy, diffuse, and confused. A 
man is never short of materials, when he is in the true 
line of his development. But he must strike the rock 
with the rod of Moses, and above all he must strike it 
as God has commanded in order that the waters may 
gush from it in an inexhaustible stream. When the 
miner has touched the right lode, wealth abounds. 

Unfortunately, things do not always happen thus. Too 
often one takes the first path that offers to reach the 
main idea, and that path is not always the straightest 
nor the clearest. Once in the way, with eyes bent 
towards the point of destination, a man plies, not indeed 
the oars, but words, in order to attain the idea, and he 
attains it only by circuitous and tortuous efforts. The 
hearer who is following you does not very well see 
whither you are leading him, and if this position con- 
tinues for a little longer, the discomfort of the speaker 
gains upon the listeners, and a coldness is diffused with 
the uneasiness among the assembly. 

Have you at times contemplated from the shore a 
white sail striving to leave the roadstead, and by the 
wind’s help to gain the offing? It tacks in all direc- 
tions, to gain its object, and when balked, it flutters 
inwards and oscillates without advancing, until at last 
the favorable breeze distends it, and then it passes 
swiftly over the waters, enters upon the open sea, and 
speedily vanishes below the horizon. Thus it is with 
the orator who misses his right course in the first in- 
stance. Eager to set out, because it would be discredit- 
able to stand still, he hoists his sail to the first wind that 
blows, and presently back it sinks with the deceitful 
breeze. He tries another course with as poor success, 
and runs the risk of either not advancing or of taking 


166 ENTRANCE INTO SUBJECT 


a wrong line. He then makes for the first image that 
presents itself, and it beguiles him far from his subject. 
He would fain return, but no longer knows his way. He 
sees his goal afar, eluding him, as Ithaca escaped 
Ulysses, and like Ulysses he may complete a very long 
Odyssey ere reaching it. Perhaps he will never get 
thither, and that is sadder still. 

There are persons who speak for a whole hour, within 
sight of their subject, and yet can not manage to enter 
it. Sometimes, again, they get at it when they ought 
to be taking leave of it—that is when their time is ex- 
hausted. Hence interminable orations which tire the 
hearer without either instructing or moving him; the 
orator wears himself out in utter futility, and his toil 
is fruitless. He has plunged into a quagmire; the more 
he struggles, the deeper he sinks; he flounders right and 
left to find his road and recover solid ground, and if he 
gains it, it is covered all over with the mud through 
which he has waded. 

Horace says—‘‘ qui bene cepit, facti dimidium habet,’’ 
“‘he who has begun well, has half done his work.’’ This 
is perfectly applicable to the orator, who has well got 
into his matter, and who, after having clearly laid down 
his subject, attacks it full front, and takes up under- 
standingly the thread of his ideas. He has then noth- 
ing to do but to suffer his skiff to float along; the very 
current will carry it on to the destination, and the 
strokes of his oars, and the breeze in his sails, will be so 
many accessorial means of propulsion. But if he is 
out of the current, and still more, if he is against the 
current, should the breeze fail him or prove adverse, the 
more he rows the less he advances. He will lose time 
and trouble, and fill with uneasiness or with pity those 
who watch him from the shore. 


ENTRANCE INTO SUBJECT 167 


But how begin well? How find this thread of the 
deep water, this favorable current, or, to speak with- 
out metaphor, the leading idea by which a man should 
open, and which will bring after it the others? Can a 
precept be given, a method prescribed for this end? No 
precept, no method, avails anything, except in so far as 
one knows how to apply them; and in order to under- 
stand them rightly, and above all, in order to make use 
of them successfully, what we need is good sense, in- 
telligence, and an unwarped, piercing mind. A man 
should be able to discern rapidly what is to be done in 
the ease which we have just described—he must know 
how to take advantage of the rising breeze which can 
help him, and how to extricate himself from the em- 
barrassment in which he is involved. There is need, in 
short, for the orator, as for any other person who has to 
face a danger or escape from a disadvantage, of both 
mind and presence of mind—things not to be taught. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE DEVELOPMENT 


THE speaker should have his plan well fixed, not only 
on paper, but in his head, so as to keep ever present 
before his mind the chain of the thoughts, and so as to 
proceed successively from one to the other in the pre- 
scribed order of the exposition. The discourse, then, is 
mounted, as it were, in a frame from which it ought not 
to ship, under pain of digressing and diverting, by its 
deviations, the attention of the hearers from the subject, 
as a river which overflows its bed sweeps away what- 
ever it meets, and spreads dearth and ruin where it 
ought to have diffused refreshment and fertility. 

Or to speak more properly, the discourse which thus 
overflows carries nothing at all with it except those 
wordy waves which beat upon the ears without leaving 
behind them a single idea or moving a single feeling. 
Many of those who are anxious to speak extemporane- 
ously, and who do not understand it, for want of talent 
or of preparation, are lost in this manner. The current 
of their discourse, which is not kept within its banks, 
gets every moment divided and loses itself in emptiness, 
like those rivers with a multiplicity of mouths, which 
are absorbed by the sands. 

It is a highly important matter, then, to know how 
to confine oneself to one’s plan—although one must not 
be such a slave to it, as to leave no room for the new 


thoughts which may occur at the moment. That would 
168 


THE DEVELOPMENT 169 


be to deprive oneself of one of the chief advantages of 
extemporization—the inspiration of the moment and the 
life it gives to the discourse. 

A man who is accustomed to speak in public even 
foresees to a certain extent—or rather he has a presenti- 
ment in the matter not indeed of the instant at which 
he will have this inspiration, but of the ideas which may 
offer themselves in e¢ertain stages of the development; 
he catches sight of what is involved in an idea which he 
has yet only indicated. It is like a plunge of the sound- 
ing rod, dropped beforehand into a spring, and he care- 
fully recloses it until he shall require to uncover it and 
make it gush forth. He would weaken, and perhaps ex- 
haust it, were he to pierce it during the preparatory 
portion; he reserves it for the favorable moment, sure 
to find there a plentiful well when he pleases. 

But every advantage has its drawback. In the 
warmth of exposition a man is not always master of his 
own words, and when new thoughts arise, they may 
lead a long way from the subject, to which there is 
sometimes a difficulty in returning. Hence digressions, 
prolixities, appendages, which cause the main object to 
be lost to view, and wear out or render languid the at- 
tention of the audience. 

All who extemporize have had this misfortune some 
time or other. If you do not accustom yourself to hold 
with a firm hand the thread of your thoughts, so that 
you can always, amidst the labyrinth of the discourse 
and the many mazes into which you may be drawn, re- 
cover your way, you will never come to speak in an 
endurable manner; and even though you should have 
fine passages, the hearer will grow weary of your devi- 
ous style, and when all is said he will be neither in- 
structed nor impressed. You may dazzle him by the 


170 THE DEVELOPMENT 


pomp of language, surprise him by ideas more or less 
ingenious, nay amuse him, for a moment, by the wit 
and sparkle of your expressions; but you will not sug- 
gest one idea to his mind nor instill a single feeling into 
his ear, because there will be neither order nor unity, 
and therefore no life in your discourse. 

It is further essential to beware of the distractions 
which may break the thread of the exposition, and 
abruptly send the mind into a totally different and an 
unprepared channel. This is another of the dangers at- 
tending extemporization, which imperatively demands 
that you should give yourself wholly to your subject, 
and thus exclude from your mind every extraneous 
image and thought—no easy task, when a man stands 
face to face with a numerous assembly, whose eyes from 
all directions are centered upon him, tempting him to 
look at people, were it only because people are all look- 
ing at him. 

On this account it is necessary that the orator before 
speaking should be collected—he should be wholly ab- 
sorbed in his ideas, and proof against the interruptions 
and impressions which surround him. The slightest dis- 
traction to which he yields may break the chain of his 
thoughts, mar his plan, and even sponge out of his mind 
the very remembrance of his subject itself. This ap- 
pears incredible, and I would not believe it myself had 
I not experienced it. 

One day, I had to preach in one of the principal 
churches of Paris. It was a solemn festival, and there 
was an immense audience, including part of the Court 
then reigning. As I was ascending the pulpit I per- 
ceived a person whom I had supposed absent, and my 
mind was carried away suddenly by a train of recollec- 
tions. I reached the pulpit-landing, knelt down as usual, 


THE DEVELOPMENT 171 


and when I should have risen to speak, I had forgotten 
not only my text, but even the subject of my sermon. 
I literally knew no longer what I had come to speak 
upon, and, despite of all my efforts to remember it, 
I could see nothing but one complete blank. My em- 
barrassment and anguish may be conceived. I re- 
mained on my knees a little longer than was customary, 
not knowing what to do. Nevertheless, not losing head 
or heart, I looked full at my danger without being scared 
by it, yet without seeing how I was to get out of it either. 
At last, unable to recover anything by my own proper 
strength—neither subject nor text—I had recourse to 
God, and I said to Him, from the very bottom of my 
heart and ‘with all the fervor of my anxiety—‘‘Lord if 
it be Thy will that I preach, give me back my plan;’’ 
and at that instant, my text came back into my mind, 
and with my text the subject. I think that never in my 
life have I experienced anything more astonishing, nor 
a more lively emotion of gratitude. 

At other times, and this often happens, you lose while 
speaking the thread of your discourse, especially when 
some new idea crosses, or if you allow yourself to begin 
looking about among the audience. You generally be- 
come aware of it ere the sentence you are uttering is 
finished ; for when you extemporize, you always see the 
next idea before you have done with its predecessor, and 
in order to advance with certainty you must look some- 
what forward, in order to discern where you are going 
to plant your foot presently. Suddenly, you can see 
nothing before you, and you are come to the closing 
member of your period. If you then become agitated, 
you are lost; for anxiety, far from enabling you to re- 
cover your ideas, confuses them still more, and the more 
disturbed you get, the less capable are you of retrieving 


172 THE DEVELOPMENT 


your plan and reéntering the road. In these cases, you 
must calmly, under another form, with other phrases, 
resume the same thought you have just expressed, and 
nearly always it recalls that which was lost; it gently 
excites the remembrance of it, by virtue of the associa- 
tion of ideas and of the previous elaboration of the plan. 
But while yet speaking, you must look inwards with the 
whole sight of your mind, in order to discern what this 
species of conjuration shall evoke, and at the slightest 
sign to grasp your idea once more. All this is not ef- 
fected without perplexity or without interior tribulation. 

There are untoward days, when one is scarcely mas- 
ter of one’s attention, and in spite of the most laborious 
preparation the plan refuses to fix itself in the head, or 
to stay there, escaping on one side or on other, as in 
a sieve; or else something comes across which throws 
you out of your way. It is often the effect of some 
physical cause—a nervous or a feverish state, arising 
from atmospheric influences, from the body’s or a sin- 
gle bodily organ’s indisposition, and above all from anx- 
ieties of heart or of mind. 

In such eases there is much difficulty in entering upon 
one’s plan or in keeping to it. Sometimes, indeed, one 
does not enter into it at all, and one speaks at the side 
of it, so to say, trying to catch it, and unable to over- 
take it so as to settle oneself therein, like a man who 
runs after the conveyance which was to have carried 
him, and who reaches the door without being able to 
open it and take his seat. This is one of the most fa- 
tiguing situations with which I am acquainted. It ex- 
hausts alike the will, the mind, and the body—the will, 
which makes vain endeavors to recapture a subject per- 
petually evading it; the mind, which struggles in a des- 
perate wrestle with its own thoughts; and the body, 


THE DEVELOPMENT 173 


which travails and sweats, as if to compensate by ex- 
terior agitation for the interior activity which is de- 
ficient. 

For the greatest possible avoidance of distractions, I 
will recommend a thing which I have always found suc- 
cessful—that is, not to contemplate the individuals who 
compose the audience, and thus not to establish a spe- 
cial understanding with any one of them. The short- 
sighted have no need of my recommendation, but it will 
be useful to those who see far, and who may be dis- 
turbed by some sudden impression or some movement 
of curiosity. As for myself I carefully avoid all ocular 
contact with no matter whom, and I restrict myself to 
a contemplation of the audience as a whole—keeping my 
looks above the level of the heads. Thus I see all, and 
distinguish nobody, so that the entire attention of my 
mind remains fastened upon my plan and my ideas. 

I do not, however, advise an imitation of Bourdaloue, 
who closed his eyes while delivering his sermon, lest his 
memory should fail, or some distraction sweep away part 
of his discourse. It is a great disadvantage to shut the 
eyes while speaking; for the look and its play are among 
the most effectual means of oratorical action. It darts 
fire and light, it radiates the most vital energy, and peo- 
ple understand the orator by looking at him and follow- 
ing the play of his eyes almost as well as by listening 
to his voice and words. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 


I aivE this name to the moment when the speech pro- 
duces its highest effect, by piercing and mastering the 
hearer’s soul either with the light which it imparts, or 
the feelings which it arouses. The listener is at that 
solemn instant won, and remains passive under the in- 
fiuence which touches and vivifies. But in order to 
understand this state, it is necessary to consider closely, 
and in their respective relations, the two poles which 
speaking instantaneously unites for the achievement of 
its end. 

Eloquence has this peculiarity which distinguishes it 
from other arts, that it is always through the intelli- 
gence it reaches the heart—that is, it is by means of the 
idea which it engenders or gives birth to; and this is 
what makes it the most excellent, the most profound 
of arts, because it takes possession of the whole man and 
can neither charm, nor move, nor bear him along, ex- 
cept by enlightening him and causing him to think. It 
is not a matter of mere sensibility, imagination, or pas- 
sion, aS in music and painting, which may produce great 
effects without thought having a predominant share in 
them, although those arts themselves have a loftier and 
a wider range in proportion as the intelligence plays a 
greater part, and ideas exercise a higher sway in their 
operations. 


Yet in music and in the plastic arts, ideas are so 
174 


CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 175 


blended with form and so controlled by it, that it is 
very difficult to abstract them from it, with a view of 
testing their value and analyzing them; they flow with 
the form which is their vehicle, and you could scarcely 
translate them into any intelligible or precise language. 
Hence the vagueness of these arts, and particularly of 
music; a fact which does not prevent it from exercising 
a powerful effect at the very moment of the impression, 
which, however, is transient, and leaves little behind it. 
It vanishes almost as soon as the sounds which have pro- 
duced it cease. 

In eloquence, on the contrary, the form is subordinate 
to the idea. In itself it possesses little to dazzle or to 
charm—it is articulate language, which certainly is far 
less agreeable than language sung, or melody. However 
sonorous the voice of the speaker, it will never charm the 
ear like a musical passage, and even the most graceful 
or the most energetic oratorical action can never have 
the elegance, harmony, or finish which the painter or the 
sculptor is able to give to the bodies of the characters 
whom he represents. Notwithstanding which the tones 
and action of the speaker often produce astonishing 
effects on those who hear him, which are lost in reading 
what he has said, or in his written discourse. 

It follows that eloquence has its own artistic or 
esthetical side, besides that idea which it is its business 
to convey. But it relies much more on the idea than do 
the other arts, so that the absence or the feebleness of 
the idea is much more felt in it, and it is impossible to 
be a great orator without possessing a lofty intelligence 
and great power of thought; whereas a man may be a 
distinguished musician, painter, or sculptor without any 
brilliant share of these endowments; which amounts to 
this, that eloquence is the most intellectual of the arts, 


176 CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 


and whose exercise requires the mightiest faculties of 
the mind. 

Whence, again, it follows—and it is to this we would 

come—that eloquence is the profoundest and the most 
difficult of arts, on account of the end at which it aims, 
which is not merely to charm, please, or amuse, tran- 
siently, but to penetrate into the soul, that it may move 
and change the will, may excite or may prevent its ac- 
tion by means of the ideas which it engenders, or, as it 
is expressed in rhetorical treatises, by convincing and 
persuading. The true end of the orator is to make him- 
self master of souls, guiding them by his mind, causing 
them to think as he thinks, and thus imparting to their 
wills the movements and direction of his own. 
_ I well know that the multitude may be stirred and 
carried away by fine phrases, by brilliant images, and 
above all by bursts of voice and a vehement action, with- 
out any great amount of ideas at the root. The orator, 
in this instance, acts after the manner of music, which 
produces feelings and sometimes deeds, without thoughts. 
But what is sufficient in music is at the very utmost but 
half of what eloquence requires, and although it may 
indeed produce some effect in this way, it remains be- 
neath itself, and loses in dignity. It is sonorous but 
empty; it is a sounding cymbal, or, if the comparison 
be liked better, it is a scenic decoration, which produces 
a momentary illusion, and leaves little behind it. 

Eloquence is not worthy of its name, and fulfills not 
its high vocation, except in so far as it sways the human 
will by intelligence, determining its resolutions in a man- 
ner suitable to a rational and free being, not by mere 
sensible impressions, or by sallies of passion, but, above 
all, by the aspect of truth, by convictions of what is just 
and right, that is, by the idea of them which it gives, 


CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 177 


or rather, which it ought to ee develop, and 
bring to life in the soul. 

In a word, everything in the discourse is reducible 
to this point—that the hearer should be made to conceive 
what the orator understands, and as he understands it, 
in order that he may feel what the orator feels and will 
what he wills; in other words, that an idea should be 
engendered in the understanding of the hearer similar 
to the idea of the speaker, in order that their hearts as 
well as their minds may be in unison. There lies the 
difficulty, and they who can overcome it are indeed elo- 
quent. 

But there are many things required for this—or, to 
put it in another way, there are, in the operation which 
the orator has to effect, several stages or degrees which 
are known to all who speak in public, or of which at 
least they have had experience, even if they have not 
categorically explained them to themselves. 

The first stage is that in which the audience is won 
—the speaker commands it. 

The second is that in which his address enters the 
hearer’s soul, and makes him conceive the idea. 

The third is like the organization of this conception. 

The hearer who has conceived the idea makes one with 
the orator in mind and will—there is but one soul be- 
tween them—it is the completion of the work by which 
the speaker takes possession of him whom he has moved 
and convinced. 

Let us consider these three stages. 

To win the hearer is to seize his attention, and so to 
fix it that he shall listen without effort, and even with 
pleasure to what is said, opening his mind for its re- 
ception and absorption, to the exclusion of all other 
thought, image, or sensation which may arise, Now 


178 CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 


this capture of mind by a discourse is no easy matter, 
and it sometimes requires a considerable time and sus- 
tained exertions to obtain it. At other times, it is ef- 
fected at once, at the first words, whether on account 
of the confidence inspired by the speaker, or of the lively 
interest of the subject and the curiosity which it ex- 
cites, or for whatever reason else. It is hard to give a 
recommendation in this respect, seeing the great diver- 
sity of circumstances which may in this case exercise a 
favorable or an adverse influence; but this we may 
safely assert, that you must attain this point in order 
to produce any impression by your speech. 

There are few who know how to listen; it presup- 
poses a great desire for instruction, and therefore a con- 
sciousness of one’s ignorance, and a certain mistrust of 
one’s self, which springs from modesty or humility—the 
rarest of virtues. Besides, listening demands a certain 
strength of will, which makes a person capable of di- 
recting the mind to one point and there keeping it 
despite of every distraction. Even when you are alone 
with a serious book, what trouble you have in concen- 
trating your attention so as to comprehend what you 
are reading. And if the perusal be protracted, what a 
number of things escape and have to be read over again! 
What will it not be, then, in the midst of a crowd in 
which you are assailed on all hands by a variety of im- 
pressions ? 

Besides, each individual comes with a different dis- 
position, with different anxieties or with prejudices in 
proportion to age, condition, and antecedents. Imagine 
several hundreds, several thousands, of persons in an 
audience, and you have as many opinions as there are 
heads, aS many passions as there are interests and sit- 
uations, and in all this great crowd few agree in 


CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 179 


thoughts, feelings, and desires. Each muses on this 
matter or on that, desires one thing or another, has 
such or such prepossessions; when lo! in the midst of 
all these divergences, of all these contrarieties, I rise, a 
man, mount pulpit or platform, and have to make all 
attend in order to make all think, feel, and will just 
as I do. Truly it is a stupendous task, and one which 
cannot be achieved except by a power almost above hu- 
manity. 

Rhetoricians say that the exordium should be devoted 
to this purpose. It is at the outset that you should en- 
deavor to captivate the mind and to attach it to the sub- 
ject, either by forcibly striking it by surprise, as in 
the exordium ex abrupto, or in dexterously winning good 
will, as in the exordium ‘‘of insinuation.’’ All this is 
true, but the precept is not easy to reduce to practice. 
It is tantamount to saying that in order to make a good 
beginning a great power, or a great adroitness, in speak- 
ing is required. Who shall give us this? 

The first moments of the discourse are generally very 
difficult to the orator, not only on account of the trouble 
he experiences in setting out, in laying down and devel- 
oping his subject, as we just now showed, but also on 
account of the necessity of making his audience set out; 
and here he meets at starting, either the resistance of 
inertness, the indolence loth to take the pains of lis- 
tening, or else the levity which flies off each instant, 
or else the latent or the express opposition of some ad- 
verse prejudice, or interest. He has, therefore, to 
wrestle with his hearer in order to overcome him, and 
in this he is not always successful. 

Until everybody has taken his place and settled him- 
self well in it, and then has coughed, cleared his throat, 
blown his nose, and made a stir as long as he decently 


180 CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 


can in his situation, the poor orator speaks more or less 
in the midst of noise, or at least of a half-repressed dis- 
turbance, which hinders-his words, at first, from having 
any effect upon the mind. They penetrate nowhere, 
they return to him, and he is tempted to give way to 
discouragement, especially in large assemblies where 
there are all sorts of people, as at a sermon. If he 
waver, he is undone, he will never become master of his 
hearers, and his discourse will be powerless. 

What will sustain him is, first of all, a lively sense of 
the mission intrusted to him, of the duty he has to ful- 
fill—and, in the next place, that something which is pe- 
culiar to the strong man, and by which he derives ex- 
citement from opposition or difficulty, and enthusiasm 
from the strife. The more resistance they meet, the 
more they endeavor to prevail, the more they desire vic- 
tory—it is one of valor’s spurs in the conflict. Again, 
what is very useful to him in this emergency is the 
authority of speech which soon asserts a kind of as- 
cendancy over the hearer—a sympathetic something in 
the voice which pleases the ear and reaches the heart, 
or else a certain pungency of pronunciation and accent 
which wins the attention. 

By these means, and those of which we before spoke, 
and above all by help from on high, you succeed more 
or less quickly in seizing upon your audience, in com- 
manding it, in winning it, in chaining it, so to say, to 
your discourse, so that all minds, rallying in a common 
attention, converge towards a single point, and appear 
to hang on the speaker’s lips, while all eyes are fixed 
upon him. Then is established that solemn stillness 
upon which the life of speaking is conditional. No more 
fidgetings on chair or bench; no more nose-blowing, no 
more throat-clearing; even colds are cured as if by 


CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 181 


magic, and in the absence of all noisy sounds, there is 
nothing to be heard save the respiration of the audi- 
ence, and the voice of the orator, as it arises, prevails, 
and diffuses itself. The assembly is won—it listens. 

Second.—Now alone ean be achieved the task of elo- 
quence which is to engender in the hearer the requisite 
idea, so as to make him conceive and feel what it enun- 
ciates. 

Here, as in all conceptions, there are two poles, the 
one active, which transmits life, the other passive, which 
conceives by admitting it; and conception is effected by 
their interpenetration. Such is the operation when all 
looks are bent, strained, towards the orator, every mind 
is open to welcome and absorb his words with all its 
powers, and those words sink into and fertilize it by 
their virtue. It is thus that ideas are produced by in- 
struction, which is a real fertilization and a nourishment 
of the intelligence; for ‘‘man lives not by bread alone, 
but by every word of truth.’’ 

This is the most momentous period of the discourse, 
what we term the crisis, or supreme effort of speaking; 
it is truth itself, it is He who calls Himself ‘‘the way, 
the truth, and the life,’’ who, by the mouth of his min- 
ister, or of some man of his choice, acts upon the soul, 
pierces it, and makes a settlement therein, that it may 
become as a throne where He loves to sit, as a sanctuary 
which He is pleased to inhabit, as a mirror in which He 
reflects Himself with predilection, as a torch by which 
He desires to shine and to diffuse his light. 

In the physical world wherever there is the communi- 
cation and reproduction of life, it is also the Living God 
who acts; whereas the men, the animals, and the plants 
which are employed in this great operation are merely 
organs and implements in the work. This is why the 


182 CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 


Gospel declares that there is but one Father, He from 
whom all paternity is derived in heaven and on earth; 
as He alone is good, because He is the source of every 
good, and He alone is Master and Lord, because He is 
truth. 

It is just the same, and for still greater reason, in the 
moral world, or in the communication of intellectual 
life. It is an operation performed according to the 
same laws—and on this account, he who instructs or 
effects a mental genesis (the true meaning of the word 
‘‘instruct’’)—that person also is a father intellectually, 
and it is the noblest and most prolific species of pa- 
ternity. 

Such is the sublime mission of the orator, such the 
high function which he discharges. When he circulates 
a living word, it is a transmission of life, it is a repro- 
duction and multiplication of truth in the souls of others 
whom he intellectually vivifies, as a father his offspring 
according to the flesh. As He whose image and instru- 
ment he is, diffuses His light, warmth, and life over all 
creatures, so the orator, filled with inspiration, instils 
upon the spot into thousands of hearers the light of his 
word, the warmth of his heart, and the life of his soul. 
He fertilizes all these intelligences at once; and this is 
why, as soon as the rays of his discourse have entered 
them and imparted to them the new conception, they 
make but one soul with him, and he is master of that 
soul, and pours into it virtue from on high. 

They all live in unison at that important moment, 
identified by the words which have mastered them. 

This critical instant of the discourse, when the su. 
preme effort of eloquence is achieved, is accordingly 
marked by the profoundest emotion of which men are 
susceptible, that which always attends the communica- 


CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 183 


tion of life, and in this case by so much the more re- 
plete with happiness as the hfe of the intellect is more 
pure, and less remote from Him who is its source. 
Hence that exquisite feeling, to which no other is to be 
compared, which the orator experiences when his words 
enter into and vivify the minds of his audience; and 
hence also the sweet impressions of which these last are 
conscious when they receive the spirit of the word and 
by it are nourished. 

Third—When the orator has thus penetrated into 
the hearer’s soul by the radiation of his speech, animat- 
ing that soul with its life, he becomes master of it, im- 
presses, moves, and turns it at will, without effort, in 
the simplest manner, by a word, a gesture, an exclama- 
tion, nay silence itself. The fact is, he possesses the 
hearer’s heart; it is open to him, and there is between 
them an intimate communication which has scarcely any 
further need of exterior means. Thus it is with two per- 
sons who love each other dearly, and who have confi- 
dence in each other; they understand each other, with- 
out speaking, and the feeling which animates and unites 
them is so intimate and so sweet that language is power- 
less to express it, and they need it no longer to make 
themselves mutually understood. 

Everything, then, is in the orator’s power when he 
has thus won his audience, and he ought to take ad- 
vantage of this power which is given to him temporarily, 
to complete his work, and to develop and organize in 
the minds of the listeners the idea to which he has given 
birth; this is the third stage of his undertaking. 

Strike the iron while it is hot, says the proverb. In 
the present instance there is something more than iron 
and better than iron to forge and fashion; there is the 
young life which eloquence has called forth to develop, 


184 CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE 


in order that the conceived idea may take shape in the 
understanding, and influence the will—partly through 
the emotion which it has produced, and partly through 
the intellectual views which furnish the will with mo- 
tives, as feeling and passion supply it with incentives. 
Eloquence would miss its aim, if it failed to lead the 
hearer to some act by which the idea is to be realized. 

It is in this last stage, then, that the practical part of 
the discourse should be placed along with the application 
of deductions. In these must the speaker reap the 
fruits of his labor. After having imparted his feelings 
and thoughts to the listener, he must also make them 
partakers of his will. He must imprint his personality 
upon them, fashion them in his resemblance, so that 
they shall feel, think, and will as he does, in the interest 
of that truth and excellence of which he has brought 
home to them the manifestation. He must not take 
leave of his audience till he has touched, convinced, and 
carried it away. It is in the peroration, as we are about 
to see, that the seal must be set to the work, and that it 
must receive its plenary completeness. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE CLOSE OF THE DISCOURSE, OR PERORATION 


Ir it is difficult to begin, when one extemporizes, it is 
still more difficult to finish—that is, to finish well. Most 
orators spoil their speeches by lengthiness, and prolix- 
ity is the principal disadvantage of extemporaneous 
speaking. In it, more than in any other, one wants time 
to be brief, and there is a perpetual risk of being car- 
ried away by the movement of the thoughts or the ex- 
pressions. 

It sometimes happens, unfortunately, that you are 
barely into your subject when you should end; and then, 
with a confused feeling of all that you have omitted, and 
a sense of what you might still say, you are anxious to 
recover lost ground in some degree, and you begin some 
new development when you ought to be concluding. This 
tardy, and unseasonable, yet crude after-growth has the 
very worst effect upon the audience which, already fa- 
tigued, becomes impatient and listens no longer. The 
speaker loses his words and his trouble, and everything 
which he adds by way of elucidating or corroborating 
what he has said spoils what has gone before, destroying 
the impression of it. He repeats himself unconsciously, 
and those who still listen to him follow him with uneasi- 
ness, as men watch from shore a bark which seeks to 
make port and cannot. It is a less evil to turn short 


round and finish abruptly than thus to tack incessantly 
185 


186 THE CONCLUSION 


without advancing. For the greatest of a speaker’s mis- 
fortunes is that he should bore. 

The bored hearer becomes almost an enemy. He can 
no longer attend, and yet, at that moment, he is unable 
to think of anything else. His mind is like an overladen 
stomach which requires rest, and into which additional 
aliment is thrust despite of its distaste and repugnance; 
it needs not much to make it rise, rebel, and disgorge the 
whole of what it has received. An unseasonable or awk- 
ward speaker inflicts a downright torture on those who 
are compelled to hear him, a torture that may amount 
to sickness or a nervous paroxysm. Such is the state 
into which a too lengthy discourse, and, above all, a 
never-ending peroration, plunge the audience. It is easy 
to calculate the dispositions which it inspires and the 
fruit it produces. 

Sometimes—and I humbly confess that I here speak 
from experience—the orator is still more unfortunate, if 
that were possible. He wants to finish, and no longer 
knows how, like a man who seeks to quit a house in 
danger, and finds all the doors shut; he runs right and 
left to discover an escape, and strikes against dead walls. 
Meanwhile time presses, and the impatience of the pub- 
lic betrays itself by a repressed disturbance, some rising 
to go away, some moving on their seats to relieve them- 
selves, while a confused hum ascends towards the speaker 
—a too certain token that he is no longer attended to, 
and that he is speaking to the air, which fact only 
increases his agitation and perplexity. At last, as 
everything has an end in this world, he reaches 
his conclusion after some fashion or other, and war- 
weary, either by catching hold of the common-place 
wind-up about eternal life, should he be preaching, or, 
under other circumstances, by some panting period 


THE CONCLUSION 187 


which has the air of expressing a feeling or a thought, 
and which in nine cases out of ten, fills the ear with 
sonorous and empty words. And thus the poor orator 
who could do better, and who is conscious that he has 
done ill, retires, with lowly mien, much confused, and 
vowing, though rather late, that they shall not catch him 
in that way any more. 

Alas! yet again, perhaps shall they so catch him, even 
after the most laborious preparation; for there is noth- 
ing so fitful as eloquence. It needs but an omission, a 
distraction to break the thread of the ideas and launch 
you into void or darkness, and then you grope in a for- 
est, or rather struggle amid a chaos. It is a true ora- 
torical discomfiture and rout; and I have remarked that 
it happens most when one is most sure of oneself and 
hopes to produce the greatest effect. These are lessons 
which He, who exalts the humble and abases the proud, 
is pleased occasionally to give public speakers, so prone 
to be elated by success and to ascribe to themselves its 
credit and its glory. Happy are they if they profit by 
them. 

There is a way of concluding which is the most simple, 
the most rational, and the least adopted. True, it gives 
little trouble and affords no room for pompous sentences, 
and that is why so many despise it, and do not even give 
it a thought. It consists merely of winding up by a 
rapid recapitulation of the whole discourse, presenting 
in sum what has been developed in the various parts, so 
as to enunciate only the leading ideas with their connec- 
tion—a process which gives the opportunity of a nervous 
and lively summary, foreshortening all that has been 
stated, and making the remembrance and profitable ap- 
plication of it easy. 

And since you have spoken to gain some point, to con- 


188 THE CONCLUSION 


vince and persuade your hearer, and thus influence his 
will by impressions and considerations, and finally by 
some paramount feeling which must give the finishing 
stroke and determine him to action, the epitome of the 
ideas must be itself strengthened, and, as it were, ren- 
dered living by a few touching words, which inspirit the 
feeling in question at the last moment, so that the con- 
vineced and affected auditor shall be ready to do what he 
is required. 

Such, in my mind, is the best peroration, because it is 
alike the most natural and the most efficacious. It is the 
straight aim of the discourse, and as it issues from the 
very bowels of the subject and from the direct intention 
of the speaker, it goes right to the soul of the listener 
and places the two in unison at the close. 

I am aware that you may, and with success, adopt a 
different method of concluding, either by some pungent 
things which you reserve for your peroration, and which 
tend to maintain to the last and even to reawaken the at- 
tention of the audience; or else by well-turned periods 
which flatter the ear and excite all sorts of feelings, more 
or less analogous to the subject—or in fine, by any other 
way. Undoubtedly there are circumstances in which 
these oratorical artifices are in keeping, and may prove 
advantageous or agreeable; I do not reject them, for in 
war all means, not condemned by humanity and honor, 
and capable of procuring victory, are allowable—and 
public speaking is a real conflict; I merely depose that 
the simplest method is also the best, and that the others, 
belonging more to art than to nature, are rather in the 
province of rhetoric than of true eloquence. 


CHAPTER XXV 


AFTER THE DISCOURSE 


Ir should seem as if all had been said, once the discourse 
is concluded; and yet we will add a few words in the 
physical and moral interest of the speaker, we will point 
out to him various precautions which may appear futile 
to certain persons, and may prove serviceable to others; 
at least we have always found our own account in having 
adopted them. 

On quitting the pulpit, the platform, or any other 
place where you have been speaking for a considerable 
time and with animation, you should try to remain quiet 
for a while in order to recompose yourself gradually, and 
to allow the species of fever which has excited and con- 
sumed you to subside. The head particularly needs rest 
—for nothing is so fatiguing to it as extemporaneous 
speaking, which brings into play all the faculties of the 
mind, strains them to the uttermost, and thus causes a 
powerful determination of blood to the brain. More- 
over, the nervous system, which is ancillary to it, is 
strongly agitated—it requires tranquilizing—and the 
whole body, violently exerted as it has been by the ora- 
torical delivery, requires refreshment and repose; and 
these, a slight doze, if it is possible to obtain one in a ease 
of the sort, will afford better than any other means. 

The vocal organs, which have just been exercised to ex- 


cess, ought to be kept unemployed; and therefore great 
189 


190 THE DISCOURSE ENDED 


care should be taken—if indeed the inconvenience can be 
avoided—not to receive visits or hold conversations. In 
the fatigue of the moment, any new effort, however small, 
is prejudicial, and takes away more strength than the 
most violent exertions at another time. The first thing 
to do in this state is to return thanks to God for the 
danger escaped, and for the help received, even when 
you fancy that you have not achieved the success which 
you desire. Public speaking is so hazardous a thing 
that one never knows what will be the issue of it, and 
in nothing is assistance from above so really necessary. 
He who feels the importance and the danger of speak- 
ing, who has any notion of what the orator ought to be, 
any notion of all that he needs to accomplish his task, 
the obstacles he must surmount, the difficulties he must 
overcome, and, on the other hand, how slight a matter 
suffices to overthrow or paralyze him—he who under- 
stands all this can well conceive also that he requires to 
be breathed upon from on high in order to receive the 
inspiration, the light, fire, which shall make his discourse 
living and efficacious. For all life comes from Him who 
is life itself, life infinite, life eternal, inexhaustible, and 
the life of minds more stiil than of bodies, since God is 
spirit. It is but just, therefore, to pay Him homage for 
what He has vouchsafed to give us, and to refer to Him 
at the earliest moment the fruit or glory of what we 
have received. This is the more fitting, because there is 
nothing more intoxicating than the successes of elo- 
quence; and in the elation which its power gives, owing 
to a consciousness of strength, and the visible influence 
which one is exercising over one’s fellow-creatures, one 
is naturally prone to exalt oneself in one’s own conceit, 
and to ascribe to oneself, directly or indirectly, wholly or 
partially, the effect produced One should beware of 


THE DISCOURSE ENDED 191 


these temptations of pride, these illusions of vanity, 
which are invariably fatal to true talent. 

Within that measure, it is allowable to rejoice to a cer- 
tain extent at what one has achieved in the very great 
relief which is experienced after speaking. I know noth- 
ing equal to this sense of relief, especially when one 
thinks that the task has not been unworthily performed 
—except the anguish felt before beginning a speech. 
The one is the consequence of the other; for the greatest 
joys of this world are always produced by the cessation 
of the greatest troubles. 

First, there is a sort of infantine joy at being de- 
livered from a @ifficult task, or disencumbered of a heavy 
burden. Labor weighs hard upon all the children of 
Adam, even on those who the most feel its necessity, and 
we instinctively shun it to the utmost. Besides which, 
rest after sharp fatigue is delicious, and particularly 
after the labors of the mind. Socrates, son of a midwife, 
used to say that he continued the occupation of his 
mother; but it was in the mental order, by means of his 
interrogatories and dialectics, and hence the eristic 
method. One may say, then, with the wisest of the 
Greeks, that the delivery of a discourse in public is the 
production of an intellectual offspring; and very fortu- 
nate it is when that offspring is not dead or unlikely to 
live. To conceive an idea, to organize it in a plan vigo- 
rously meditated, and to carry this mental progeny for 
more or less time in the understanding, and then when 
matured to give it to the light amidst the dangers and 
the throes of public speaking, this is an exertion which 
produces immense relief and a very great satisfaction 
when it succeeds. And truly, how light one feels after 
a speech, and how comfortable the relaxation of mind 
and body after the extreme tension which has wrung all 


192 THE DISCOURSE ENDED 


the springs and exhausted all the exertions of one’s vital 
power! None can know it, save him who has expe- 
rienced it. 

After this comes a feeling at once higher and deeper, 
that of duty accomplished, of a task honorably fulfilled, 
one of the sweetest joys of conscience. Finally, another 
feeling raises us in our own estimation even while inspir- 
ing us with humility, that of being an instrument of 
truth to make it known to men as far as our weakness 
allows, and of having given testimony to it at the cost 
of some sacrifices, or at least of our toil and sweat. You 
are never more closely united with Truth than when you 
are announcing it with conviction and devotedness. 
When you are called to proclaim it solemnly, it reveals 
itself or makes itself felt in a manner quite peculiar, and, 
as Bossuet says, with sudden illuminations. He who in- 
structs others in hearty and living language derives more 
profit than even those whom he teaches, and receives 
more light than he imparts. This is why teaching is the 
best method of learning. 

From these mingled sentiments results a state full of 
sweetness, especially if you believe that you have suc- 
ceeded, and in general your own feeling does not deceive 
you in this respect. Still, illusion is possible, whether 
for good or ill, because the true orator, who always needs 
inspiration, never has a very clear consciousness of what 
he has done, or rather of what has been done by him. 
God alone, who inspires him, illumines the minds of the 
hearers by His light, and changes their hearts by his 
grace. Now God frequently employs the weakest instru- 
ments, apparently, to touch the soul, as He has renewed 
the face of the world by what, in the eyes of human 
wisdom, were the meanest and most foolish of mankind. 

Thus, a discourse with which a speaker is dissatisfied, 


THE DISCOURSE ENDED 193 


because it has fallen short of his ideal and of his plan, 
has produced a profound impression and has subjugated 
every listener; whereas another, with which he was de- 
lighted and which he thought highly effective, has pro- 
duced nothing save his own fruitless exultation, and too 
often an augmentation of his vain-glory. Here, as in 
everything, the Almighty is absolute:—He sports with 
the desires, efforts, and opinions of men, and makes them 
instrumental, according to His good pleasure, in the 
manifestation of truth, and the promotion of the designs 
of His justice or His mercy. 

Let no speaker, then, too much disquiet himself as to 
the effect he may have produced and the results of his 
discourse; let him leave all this in the hands of God, 
whose organ he is, and let him beseech Him to make 
something accrue from it to His glory, if success has been 
achieved; or if he has had the misfortune to fail, to make 
good out of this evil come, as it belongs to the Divine 
Power to do, and to that power alone. 

Above all, let him not canvass this person and that in- 
quisitively concerning what their feelings were in hearing 
him, and their opinion of his discourse and his manner. 
All such questions seek a motive for self-love, rather than 
any useful hints; they are an indirect way of going in 
quest of praise and admiration, and may be carried to a 
very abject extent, in order to get oneself consideration, 
criticizing one’s one performance merely to elicit a con- 
trary verdict—tricks and subterfuges of vanity, which 
begs its bread in the meanest quarters, and which in its 
excessive craving for fiattery, challenges applause and 
extorts eulogy. This wretched propensity is so inborn in 
human nature, since original sin, that frequently the 
greatest orators are not proof against this littleness, 
which abuses them in the eyes of God and man. Besides, 


194 THE DISCOURSE ENDED 


it is a way of exposing oneself to cruel disappointments. 

At length when the speaker is sufficiently rested, and 
has become more calm, next day, for instance, let him re- 
view his plan while his recollections are still new, in 
order to correct and perfect it by the side of what he has 
actually said, either rectifying the succession of the 
ideas, if necessary, or adding those which have occurred 
to him while speaking. It will be so much gained for 
some future speech on the same plan. 

If the discourse has been really successful, and he feels 
inclined, let him write according to his plan as he has 
spoken, and thus he will compose a finished, after having 
delivered an extemporaneous, production. Great orators 
have in this manner written several of their orations sub- 
sequently—Cicero, Bossuet, and others. In this case, 
the surest method is to have a shorthand writer who 
shall supply you with the whole of what you have said, 
and whose reports you can rewrite, yet so rewrite as to 
preserve whatever vivid or striking things the spoken 
words possessed. 

This is a labor which we have often executed, always 
with advantage, and never without a feeling of humility. 
For unless you have verified it, you can hardly form an 
idea how wretched upon paper looks the most easy, the 
most elegant extemporaneous address, even that which 
produced the greatest effect at the moment itself; and 
how very much it admits of improvement in point of 
style and readableness. That is why orators of mark, 
and even of the highest order, whose quivering and 
action-heated eloquence moves and overcomes any as- 
sembly, vanish, as it were, on being perused; so that 
on seeing the reckoning of their extemporaneous ha- 
rangues, divested of the accents of their voice, the play 
of their physiognomy, and their gestures, you ask your- 


THE DISCOURSE ENDED _ 195 


self with amazement how such a discourse could have 
produced an effect so wondrous. It is that speaking and 
writing are not the same thing; people do not write as 
they speak, and frequently he who speaks the best knows 
nothing about writing, just as the ablest writer is not 
always capable of speaking. 

Our modest task is over; for we had, we repeat, no 
pretension of compassing a treatise on the art of speak- 
ing; our single object was to transfer the results of our 
experience to those whose calling it is to speak in public. 
These very simple counsels, we hope, may prove useful 
to some, either by sparing them trials which are always 
painful, even when they are productive of fruit, or by 
showing them a more easy process than their own, or a 
surer way. 

However this may be, we warn them at parting that 
those alone can derive any benefit from our remarks 
who shall have received from nature the gift of eloquence, 
and whom God, who is the Word by preéminence, shall 
assist by His grace in the management of this formidable 
weapon, this two-edged sword, for the manifestation of 
truth, the fulfillment of His designs among men, and 
the renewal of the world. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


Ir the reader fancy that we are about to assemble before 
him a formidable body of scholastic rules, and to enter 
the labyrinth of the Aristotelian Logic, we beg him to 
dismiss the apprehension. Our purpose is far simpler, 
and is limited to setting forth in an unpretending way 
those turns and connections of reasoning which, con- 
sciously or unconsciously, the public speaker is called 
upon to employ. Something of this detailed and ex- 
emplified character seems requisite to the American 
student, as an append to the suggestive and eloquent 
work of Monsieur Bautain. We shall be strictly prac- 
tical in both plan and execution, and when we adopt 
authorities the reader may rely upon it that good ones 
are followed, whether cited or not, in their own lan- 
guage. 

We confine ourselves to Logie so far as it concerns 
the orator, and we go no step further. The examples 
chosen shall be from spoken, argumentative productions, 
and the nomenclature that which has the sanction of past 
and present use. All beyond this lies outside of our 
plan. Yet so connected are all cognate subjects of 
thought and investigation that a familiarity with the 
principles of reasoning as here stated and applied, will 
not fail to introduce the reader, if the study be new or 


obscure to him, to the science at large. With this ad- 
196 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 197 


vantage, that the direct and positive examples he will 
meet with, taken from actual occasions and relating to 
immediate interests, will have infused a vitality which is 
not found in the Tree of Porphyry, and which is want- 
ing to the mere verbalities of scholasticism. Nothing of 
the kind here attempted has yet fallen in our way, and 
believing that a desideratum exists which ought to be 
supplied, we now proceed in the attempt to supply it. 

The object of all public speaking, where logic pre- 
vails, is to carry some point or other: to establish some 
proposition, either opposed, or not. All evidence—and 
consequently all proof—is built upon the idea of a con- 
nection between that which is asserted and that which 
ought to be conceded; to wit, the point to be carried. 
What this connection is, and whether it exists or not, is 
a question of special knowledge—therefore ‘‘get knowl- 
edge.’’ The orator’s logic does not furnish that; it does 
show him how to use it to advantage. 

The Enthymeme is the orator’s form of argument. 
It is an elliptical statement of his reasoning. One of 
his propositions is held back in his mind—such is the 
literal meaning of the term—the other two, only, are ex- 
pressed. For such is the mysterious process (to employ 
one of Monsieur Bautain’s similitudes), of mental gen- 
eration—there must be three terms, three propositions, 
three thoughts in the act of reason. The first two by 
their union engender the third. 

Take an example: The philosopher might discourse 
thus formally, 

1. We ought to love what renders us more perfect. 

2. Now literature renders us more perfect. 

3. Therefore we ought to love literature. 

Deny the first proposition, and the argument fails, its 
major premise is gone. Deny the second, it again fails: 


198 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


its minor premiss has disappeared. But grant both, and 
the third, the conclusion, stands firm. 

This slow mode of statement suits not, however, the 
fervid movement of the orator. He exclaims, ‘‘Who is 
it that loves not letters? They enrich the understand- 
ing, and refine the manners; they polish and adorn hu- 
manity. Self-love and good sense themselves endear 
them to us, and engage us in their cultivation.’’ Zeno 
said that the philosophic argument is like the human 
hand closed, the oratorical like the same hand unfolded. 

When argumentation is linked in a chain, it is called a 
Sorites. Public discourse, from time to time, makes use 
of it. A playful example is seen when the Thracians let 
loose a fox on a frozen river to try the ice. Renard put 
his ear down, and seemed to say, ‘‘Whatever makes a 
noise moves; what moves is not frozen hard; that which 
is not hard is liquid; laquid will bend under weight; 
therefore, if I perceive, close to my ear, the sound of 
water, it is not frozen, and the ice is too weak to bear 
me.’’ The Thracians saw Renard stop, then retreat 
when he heard the sound of the water. 

The Hpichirema is but an involved syllogism, or regu- 
lar argument. Example: 

1. Whatever destroys trade is ruinous to Great Britain 
(because it deprives the laborer of his ordinary 
means of support, and reduces the source of the 
revenue). 

2. War destroys trade (for it interrupts the exporta- 
tion of manufactured articles). 

3. Therefore, war is ruinous to Great Britain. 

Cicero calls the Epichirema ratiocination. You see 
that it supports the chain of argument by subordinate 
proofs. It is reducible to the orator’s purpose, as fol- 
lows; 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 199 


‘‘War is ruinous to Great Britain because it deprives 
the laborer,’’ ete., adding all that above which is in- 
cluded in the two parentheses. This gives us, at once, 
the form of the Enthymeme. 

The Dilemma, divides the adversary’s argument into 
two or more parts, and then opposes to each of them an 
unanswerable reply. It is no more than several En- 
thymemes, joined together. 

For instance (regularly in form) : 

1. He who writes on general topics must either sup- 

port popular prejudices, or oppose them. 

2. If he supports them, he will be condemned by the 

intelligent. 

3. If he opposes them, he will be condemned by the 

ignorant. 

4. Therefore he who writes on general topics, will be 

condemned. 

The orator turns the argument into an Enthymeme 
somewhat in this way: 

He who writes on general topics will be condemned, 
because he must either support popular prejudices, or 
oppose them. If he oppose them, he will be condemned 
by the ignorant, if he support them, by the intelli- 
gent. 

Patrick Henry’s famous oration for the war runs into 
the form of a dilemma. He argues, ‘‘We must resort 
either to submission or to arms. Therefore there is no 
need of longer debate. We have tried submission in vain 
—and the war is already begun. There is no peace.”’ 

The dilemma is most frequently employed for retort. 
The best way of replying to it is to show that the adver- 
sary has not fully, or fairly, subdivided his subject. 
The well known dispute of the travelers, concerning 
the chameleon’s color, is an example. The creature when 


200 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


‘‘nroduced,’’ was of no one of the colors named by the 
three disputants. 

A dilemma and its retort are seen in the often-quoted 
ease of Protagoras and Eualthus. Protagoras had taught 
Eualthus the art of pleading under the stipulation that 
one-half of the reward should be paid in advance, and 
the other half upon Eualthus’ winning his first cause. 
Protagoras soon sued Eualthus for the rest of his debt, 
and said to him: Jf J gain the cause, you must pay me 
by the Court’s decree: if I lose the cause, you must pay 
me by the terms of our agreement. Therefore, whether 
I gain or lose the cause, you must pay me the money. 
To which dilemma the pupil opposed another: If I gain 
the cause, I shall not pay you by the decree of the Court. 
If I lose it, I shall not pay you by the terms of our agree- 
ment. Therefore, in neither case shall I pay you the 
money. Eualthus was right. No cause of action had 
yet arisen. The old pleader’s object was, no doubt, to: 
furnish his young friend a won case, and so receive his 
money. 

The argument @ priori is, when we appeal to a reason- 
able, natural expectancy. The magnificent oration of 
Paul before Agrippa proceeds in the @ priori form. He 
describes his ‘‘manner of life from his youth,’’ his train- 
ing after the straitest sect of his religion, a Pharisee. 
The inference @ priori must be that such a one knew well 
the prophecies of the Jews, and could wisely judge of 
their fulfillment in the Messiah. Next he recites his bit- 
ter prejudices and persecutions of the believers. The in- 
ference a priori must be that such a man would join him- 
self to them only from overwhelming reasons of convic- 
tion. 

The argument d@ posteriori is the direct opposite of 
the former: it looks back, and from effects and conse- 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 201 


quences infers causes. ‘‘If such and such be the effects 
of this law—the inevitable and undeniable effects—can 
the law itself be good?—a good tree is known by its 
fruits, ete.’? Webster’s fervid burst of declamation over 
the vision of a broken union—‘‘States dissevered, dis- 
cordant, belligerent, a land rent with civil feuds, or 
drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood’’—is an @ pos- 
teriort argument for a union ‘‘now and forever one and 
inseparable.’”’ Curran’s awful denunciation of an In- 
former, ‘‘A wretch that is buried a man till his heart has 
time to fester and dissolve, and is then dug up a witness,”’ 
“‘how the stormy wave of the multitude retired at his 
approach,’’ ete., argues from these hideous effects that 
the prosecution of the government against Finnerty, 
needing and producing such instruments is unrighteous, 
and that the jury cannot, in conscience, sustain it. 

The last two arguments—the @ priori and the a pos- 
teriori—relate to time, to the future and the past. The 
argument d fortiori refers to force and its degrees. It 
very often takes the form of interrogation—as indeed 
forcible argumentation in general inclines to do. The 
ideas of less and greater, then, lie under the a fortiori 
turn of argument. Says Jefferson, ‘‘Sometimes it is 
said that man cannot be trusted with the government 
of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the govern- 
ment of others? Or have we found angels, in the form 
of kings, to govern him? Let history answer this ques- 
tion.’’ 

Burke, in defending before the Bristol electors his 
course on Catholic emancipation, employs a powerful, 
implied, d fortiori argument to support the justice of 
the emancipation. The English Catholics were most 
loyal when most tempted not to be so. ‘‘A great terror 
fell upon this kingdom. On a sudden we saw ourselves 


202 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


threatened with an immediate invasion, which we were 
at that time very ill prepared to resist. You remember 
the cloud which gloomed over us all. In that hour of 
our dismay, from the bottom of the hiding-places into 
which the indiscriminate rigor of our statutes had driven 
them, came out the Roman Catholics. They appeared 
before the steps of a tottering throne with one of the 
most sober, measured, steady, and dutiful addresses that 
was ever presented to the crown. At such a erisis, noth- 
ing but a decided resolution to stand or fall with their 
country could have dictated such an address, the direct 
tendency of which was to cut off all retreat, and to 
render them peculiarly obnoxious to an invader of their 
own communion”’ (France). The conclusion is obvious 
—d fortiori such subjects would be loyal in less extraor- 
dinary times and emergencies, and their odious disabili- 
ties should have been removed. 

The speech of Antony, as written by Shakespeare, in 
the third act of Julius Cesar, is, for its length, un- 
equaled, simply as an oratorical production, by any un- 
inspired creation of ancient or modern times. That 
some speech then and there was delivered, and a power 
sufficient to transform the face of the Roman world, his- 
tory attests; that the actual effort equaled Shakespeare’s 
matchless imagery, is, at least, doubtful. The art of the 
orator plays throughout with a boundless fertility of re- 
sources. Argumentation is blended with rhetoric, and 
the impression is a diamond-like unity which is inimit- 
able. The summit of the effect shoots up in the @ fortiors 
form of argument. Antony has shown the crowd 
Cesar’s mantle—his familiar robe. ‘‘You all do know 
this mantle.’’ He associates it with an occasion of na- 
tional pride: 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 203 


“T remember 
The first time ever Cesar put it on: 
*Twas on a summer’s evening in his tent, 
That day he overcame the Nervi.” 


The rents of daggers in the robe are shown—the in- 
gratitude of Brutus—the broken heart of Cxesar—the 
fatal fall—are pictured, and the subdued and weeping 
multitude are infuriated by this startling transition, @ 
fortiori— 


“What, weep you when you but behold 
Our Cesar’s vesture wounded? Lo! 
Here is HIMSELF—marred, 283 you see, by TRAITORS.” 


The argument, from example, is based upon resem- 
blanee, and takes a variety of modes—such as instances, 
anecdotes, fables, comparisons. An apt citation by 
Menenius of the fable of the belly and the members is 
said to have saved Rome from anarchy, and reunited the 
army and people with the patricians. 

The argument from example, when its cases are multi- 
plied, becomes an inductwe argument. The orator’s 
proposition is that wicked men must be unhappy. He 
cites Herod, the slayer of John the Baptist, and shows 
him devoured before his death by worms: Tiberius yeil- 
ing with remorse in the caverns of Capreus; Nero sink- 
ing into the horrors of mental alienation from the visions 
of vengeance which haunted him. From history he as- 
sembles a multitude of fearful examples in support of 
his proposition, and draws his conclusion, from the in- 
duction, that happiness is not for the wicked. 

The inductive argument is sometimes made to produce 
a reductio ad absurdum, or ad impossibile, 2. €., it proves 
that the conclusion attempted cannot be; that it is ab- 
surd, impossible. Erskine, defending the Dean of St. 


204 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


Asaph for libel against the government, thus employs 
it. 

‘‘Every sentence contained in this little book, if the 
interpretation of the words is to be settled not accord- 
ing to fancy, but by the common rules of language, is to 
be found in the brightest pages of English literature, and 
in the most sacred volumes of English law; if any one 
sentiment from the beginning to the end of it be seditious 
or libelous, the Bill of Rights was a seditious libel; the 
Revolution was a wicked rebellion; the existing govern- 
ment is a traitorous conspiracy against the hereditary 
monarchy of England; and our gracious sovereign is a 
usurper of the crown of these kingdoms.”’ 

The argumentum ad hominem, is an enthymeme 
which overturns the adversary’s arguments by his own 
facts and words. Tuberus brought an accusation against 
Ligarius that he had fought against Cesar, in Africa. 
Cicero defended Ligarius, and turned the charge 
against his accuser. ‘‘But, I ask, who says that 
it was a crime in Ligarius that he was in Africa? 
It is a man who himself wished to be there; a man who 
complains that Ligarius prevented him from going, and 
one who has assuredly borne arms against Cesar. For, 
Tuberus, wherefore that naked sword of yours in the 
lines of Pharsalia? Whose breast was its point seek- 
ing? What was the meaning of those arms of yours? 
Whither looked your purpose? your eyes? your hand? 
your fiery courage? What were you craving, what wish- 
ing?”’ ; 

This was the passage which so moved Cesar that the 
act of condemnation of Ligarius dropped from his shak- 
ing hand, and he pardoned him. 

Having thus exhibited the molds in which the chief 
arguments of the orator are cast, we next take up the 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 205 


subject of refutation. Without logic, rhetoric is a 
frivolous art, and from the science of reasoning it derives 
its strength, and gains admittance into the understand- 
ing. Refutation demands the greatest address of reason- 
ing, since it requires more skill to heal a wound than to 
cause it. 

In refuting your adversary’s arguments you establish 
your own, but sometimes it is needful to begin by dis- 
posing of his, when, for instance, you perceive from the 
impression they have produced, that your own proofs 
may be badly received. In doing this you must exhibit 
the defects of his reasoning, which may be several, as 

Ignorance of the subject—Here you correct and 
rectify his statements of facts. You may show that if 
the facts were as he supposes them to be, his conclusion 
would be just, and acceptable. It is a very forcible way 
of refuting (and often unfairly employed) to seize some 
one capital assertion of the opponent and destroy it com- 
pletely by an unanswerable citation. The effect is to 
throw an air of distrust over all the rest. If this con- 
spicuous assertion had been dwelt upon, and joined with 
some striking rhetorical figure or illustration, a certain 
ridicule accompanies its prostration, which is then com- 
plete. Examples of this are numerous. 

In his Oration for the Crown, Demosthenes, flinging 
back the argument of Adschines, quotes his exclamations, 
‘“‘O Earth! O Sun! O Virtue!’’ etc., in a way that 
shows he must have mimicked him with a sneering em- 
phasis. The following from Junius (the style of whose 
letters is admitted to be entirely oratorical) will briefly 
exemplify the point we are now presenting. To Sir W. 
Draper: ‘‘I could wish that you would pay a greater 
attention to the truth of your premises before you suf- 
fer your genius to hurry you to a conclusion. Lord 


206 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


Ligonier did not deliver the army (which you, in your 
classical language, are pleased to call a PALLADIUM) into 
Lord Granby’s hands. It was taken from him much 
against his inclination, some two or three years before 
Lord Granby was commander-in-chief.’? A principal 
fact is flatly upset, and the unlucky expression seen in 
the parenthesis heightens the effect of the retort by the 
ridicule which thus attaches to it. From the same nerv- 
ous writer, the following extract presents an inductive 
argument along with the citation of capital facts, the 
quotation of the adversary’s expression, and his convic- 
tion of ignorance of the subject. ‘‘You say, he (Lord 
Granby) has acquired nothing but honor in the field. 
Is the Ordnance nothing? Are the Blues nothing? Is 
the command of the army with all the patronage annexed 
to it, nothing? Where he got these nothings I know 
not; but you, at least, ought to have told us when he 
deserved them.’’ 

Petitio principu—or begging the question—This is, 
probably, the commonest of the fallacies of reasoning. 
It consists in giving, as proof of itself, the very thing to 
be proved. One of Moliére’s comedies has a playful ex- 
ample. ‘‘Why does opium produce sleep? Because it 
possesses a soportfic quality.’’ The power to induce 
sleep, and the possession of a soporific (or sleep produc- 
ing) quality are one and the same thing. Whatever is 
provable must be distinct from that which proves it— 
the evidence from the thing evidenced. Where these 
two separate things are confounded, the petitio occurs, 
and the question is not proved but ‘‘begged.’’ Any 
statement which, instead of supporting the question, 
merely varies its expression, or assigns its incidents 
granting it to be true, is no more than a repetition of the 
assertion, and is no evidence nor proof. Such is the 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 207 


petitio principu, the phases of which are many, and the 
answer is to distinguish the new statement from proof, 
and identify it with the original proposition—the conse- 
quence then drawn is that, whether the proposition be, 
or be not true, this does not establish it—as seen above 
in the sportive instance from Moliére. 

The Vicious Circle is one or more steps further of the 
question begged. You support A by B, B by C, and 
then C by A. A is the base after all. Sometimes, how- 
ever, two propositions may reciprocally support each 
other, without any detriment to right reason. In the 
ease, say, of one of them being known, or admitted, by 
the opposite party, of course you may make it the ground 
of the other. But to prove anything unknown by some- 
thing as little or less known, or something uncertain by 
another thing of equal uncertainty, is to fall within the 
compass of the Vicious Circle. Mr. Fox, on Parliamen- 
tary Reform, thus exposes the fallacy; ‘‘Gentlemen are 
fond of arguing in this vicious circle. When we con- 
tend that ministers have not the confidence of the peo- 
ple, they tell us that the House of Commons is the faith- 
ful representative of the sense of the country. When 
we assert that the representation is defective, and show 
that the House does not speak the voice of the people, 
they turn to the general election, and say, that at this 
period the people had an opportunity of choosing faith- 
ful organs of their opinion; and because very little or no 
change has taken place in the representation, the sense 
of the people must be the same. Sir, it is vain for gentle- 
men to shelter themselves under this mode of reason- 
ing.’’ 

Imperfect Enuwmeration—This is the error of de- 
fective Induction. A generalized conclusion is drawn 
from a given number of examples, but other examples 


208 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


which conflict with the conclusion are overlooked, or 
left out; as if many lakes of fresh water were named 
and the conclusion drawn that all such isolated bodies of 
water are fresh—omitting the fact of the Caspians. Or 
this, ‘‘The French are white, the English are white, the 
Italians, Germans, Russians and Americans are white; 
therefore all men are white.’’ The conclusion is 
erroneous because the enumeration is imperfect. There 
are black men in Guinea. 

Proving too much.—The logicians say that that which 
proves too much, proves nothing. The common way of 
shaping this argument is to cite an example (if you cite 
several, the argument becomes inductive) equally in 
point as the one maintained, and yet evidently unten- 
able, or absurd or impossible. Thus we may have here 
the arguments from example, by induction, ad hominem, 
and reductio ad absurdum and ad impossibile. In a 
speech in the House of Representatives on a Uniform sys- 
tem of Bankruptcy, John Sargent reasoned thus: ‘‘I 
fully agree that the principles of sound legislation are 
opposed to retrospective laws. But what are retrospec- 
tive laws? A retrospective law is a law that impairs or 
affects the vested rights of individuals. Every man has 
a vested right in his property. But has a citizen of this 
or any other country a vested right in any particular 
remedy, so that it can never, as to him, be either taken 
away or altered? If the creditor has his right, so has 
the debtor; and then the absurd consequence would 
follow, that if any part of the property of the debtor 
was, by law, exempted from liability, as, for instance, 
his land, it could never be subjected to execution. If 
his person was not by law subject to imprisonment, it 
could not be made so. The remedy is no part of the con- 
tract.’’ Another example of Inductive reasoning re- 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 209 


futing an argument which proves too much, from the 
Same eminent statesman’s speech on the Missouri ques- 
tion: ‘‘But is it essential to the character of a member 
of this Union that it should possess all the powers, or 
even all the rights, that belonged to the original States? 
It must then be the sovereign of all the territory within 
its limits. But the unappropriated lands belong to the 
United States. It must, too, have an unlimited right of 
taxation—and it must have an independent and absolute 
power, extending to everything within its limits—for all 
these powers belonged to the original States. Then, sir, 
not a single new State (excepting Vermont) has been 
properly admitted into the Union, and the practice of 
the government, from its foundation, has been one tissue 
of error and usurpaticn.”’ 

Logicians call a mistaking of the question Zgnoratio 
Elenchi, it misses the clinch or rivet of the discussion. 
The remedy, and reply, is to re-state the issue. Thus 
Webster in his rejoinder to Hayne—Foote’s resolution 
being before the Senate—begins by calling for the read- 
ing of the resolution. <A clear way of stating the ques- 
tion is to put it both affirmatively and negatively—lay- 
ing down what it is, and distinguishing it from that 
which has been, or may be, mistaken for it. Mr. 
Prentiss, in his great argument before the House of 
Representatives, on the Mississippi contested election, a 
speech which continued for three days, and won the en- 
thusiastic applause of the first men of the country, makes 
his exordium by guarding against an ignoratio elenchi: 

‘“The first use I shall make of the privilege accorded to 
me will be to set the House right as to the attitude of 
the question, for I perceive that many members labor 
under a misapprehension on this point, and I am anxious 
that the position I oceupy in the matter should be dis- 


210 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


tinctly understood. I have petitioned this House for 
nothing; neither have I memorialized it. I have pre- 
sented myself here as a Representative from the 
sovereign State of Mississippi, to the Congress of the 
United States, and claim a seat on this floor, not as a 
matter of favor, but as a matter of right.’’ 

Analogy—This argument is never demonstrative. It 
is based, not upon a direct resemblance, but upon a re- 
semblance of ratios. It is in form like a compound pro- 
portion; as a is to B, so isc to D. Asa son is to a par- 
ent, so is a citizen to his country. To upset the fallacious 
use of the argument we must show that the resemblance 
does not hold good, or that it is assumed, or imag- 
inary. A special weakness of this form of argu- 
ment (even where the analogy is not false, but real) is 
that it is at best only probable, and the employment of 
it by itself is a tacit admission of the want or absence of 
true demonstrative argument. It is a trite but impor- 
tant remark that ‘‘analogy does not necessarily lead to 
truth.”’ 

The fallacy of false analogy—derived from the argu- 
ment found in a true analogy—is called non tali pro tal 
—that is, no likeness put for a likeness. We will draw 
an example both of the argument, and of the refutation 
of the fallacy, from Alexander Hamilton’s speech in the 
Debates on the Constitution. 

‘‘In my reasonings on the subject of government, I 
rely more on the interests and opinions of men than on 
any speculative parchment provisions whatever. I have 
found that constitutions are more or less excellent, as 
they are more or less agreeable to the natural operation 
of things. But say, gentlemen, the members of Congress 
will be interested not to increase the number [of 
Representatives], as it will diminish their relative influ- 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 211 


ence. In all their reasoning upon the subject, there 
seems to be this fallacy. They suppose that the Repre- 
sentative will have no motive of action, on the one side, 
but a sense of duty; or on the other, but corruption. 
They do not reflect that he is to return to the com- 
munity,’’ ete., ete. The last part is the refutation of an 
incomplete induction. In the following paragraph, 
Hamilton replies to the argument of a false analogy. 
**Tt is a harsh doctrine, that men grow wicked in propor- 
tion as they improve and enlighten their minds. Expe- 
rience has by no means justified us in the supposition 
that there is more virtue in one class of men than in an- 
other. Look through the rich and the poor of the com- 
munity, the learned and the ignorant. Where does vir- 
tue predominate? The difference indeed consists, not 
in the quality, but kind of vices which are incident to 
various classes,’’ ete., ete. He denies that the asserted 
ratio is found to exist, and appeals to example, which de- 
veloped would be an induction of the facts, for proof of 
his denial. 

Fallacy of Interrogation—We have already remarked 
how conspicuous interrogations frequently become, in 
rapid and imperative oratorical reasoning; the reader 
has also seen an example in the extract from an oration 
of Cicero’s. The fallacy in the employment of this in- 
strument consists in varying the queries in such a way as 
to institute really another inquiry while appearing to 
adhere to the question at issue. This fallacy is plainly 
referable to that of irrelevant conclusions. The remedy 
is to re-affirm, and return to the question. It may like- 
wise be sometimes overthrown by means of a parallel 
series of counter-questions. All depends upon a clear 
comprehension of the subject-matter, and a distinct state- 
ment of the issue. 


212 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


To the same head may be referred the ambiguity of 
terms, where a term is employed in different senses. 
Knowledge of the language and of the special termi- 
nology is the resource against the fallacy—which is 
a fruitful cause not only of self-deception, but of 
sophistical argumentation. As Aristotle remarks, all 
the fallacies may be referred to ignoratio elenchi, to mis- 
take of the proposition, or misapprehension, or ignorance 
of it. Hence the capital importance of a clear statement 
of the proposition. As Lord Coke says with respect to a 
legal issue in pleading—it should be single, certain, ma- 
terial, and triable. 

Quitting now the second branch of oratorical logic, 
that is, refutation, we shall endeavor to elucidate a very 
valuable device of argumentative reasoning which seems 
to have been too much overlooked by writers on the 
science. We shall call it reasoning by tests. It is a sort 
of shorthand process of investigating, illustrating and 
proving, and is allied to the citation of a leading fact, 
or facts, heretofore mentioned. The orator seizes certain 
determinating principles, certain limiting conditions, or 
depicts some prominent features of the case in point, and 
makes these representative, or determinative of the whole 
business. A similar expedient is found in the concise 
language of the mathematics, where the power of a 
quantity, its root, etc., are signified by indices. It not 
only renders the process of exposition simple and more 
apprehensible, but the grasp of the reasoning faculties 
upon the subject thereby becomes, at one and the same 
time, more comprehensive and more firm. Into narrative 
it infuses life by the rejection of useless details, into 
the statement of the subject it distributes light and clear- 
ness, and pours energy into the argumentation by the 
concentration which attends it. The extreme opposite 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 213 


style, of an exhaustive detail of wundiscriminated 
minutiz, has every fault of the contrary kind. It was 
such an exhibition that once caused Chief Justice Mar- 
shall at length to inform an unwearied pleader that he 
might ‘‘omit some of his points and safely assume that 
the supreme court of the United States did know some- 
thing.’’ 

If we were regularly treating the whole subject of 
logic, it would be proper to point out at large the prin- 
ciples which preside in this process of contracting 
thought and language. But this must be left to a few 
useful examples—with the general remark that the 
reader must expect to find the principles in media, and 
by means of classification—the former implying exten- 
sion in his knowledge, the latter its systematic arrange- 
ment. 

Burke, on the East India Bill—arguing the abuse of 
powers by the Company, says: 

‘‘The principle of buying cheap and selling dear is the 
first, the great foundation of mercantile dealing. Have 
they ever attended to this principle?”’ ete., ete. 

‘‘A great deal of strictness in driving bargains for 
whatever we contract is another principle of mercantile 
policy. Look at the contracts that are made for them,”’ 
ete. 

“Tt is a third property of trading men to see that the 
clerks do not divert the dealings of the master to their 
own benefit,’’ ete. 

‘Tt is a fourth quality of a merchant to be exact in his 
accounts. What will be thought when you have fully 
before you the mode of accounting made use of in the 
treasury of Bengal?’’ etc., ete. 

“Tt is a fifth quality of a merchant to calculate his 
probable profits upon the money he takes up to vest in 


214 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


business,’’ ete., ete. He goes on to apply these tests to 
the affairs of the East India Company. 

The finest orators abound in examples of the display 
of this powerful principle, and none more than Demos- 
thenes and Cicero. I am tempted to translate an in- 
stance from the former; it occurs in his Oration for the 
Crown. 

““What should, what could, an Athenian orator do? 
Detect the evil in its birth, make others see it. I have 
done so. Guard, as far as possible, against delays, false 
pretexts, strife of interests, mistakes, errors, obstacles of 
every kind, too common amongst allied and jealous re- 
publics. This I did. Attack all difficulties with zeal, 
and ardor, in the love of duty, of friendship and con- 
cord. I did it. On every one of these points, I defy 
the detection of a fault in my conduct. If it is de- 
manded, How then has Philip triumphed? The whole 
world will answer for me: By his all-conquering arms, 
by his all-corrupting gold. It was not for me to combat 
the one or the other. I had no treasures, no soldiers. 
But with what I did have, I dare to assert that I con- 
quered Philip. How? By rejecting his bribes, by re- 
sisting his corruption. When a man lets himself be 
bought, his buyer may be said to triumph over him; but 
he who remains uncorruptible, has triumphed over the 
corrupter. And thus, so far as it depended upon Demos- 
thenes, Athens was victorious, Athens was invincible.”’ 

Here we might at once close the subject, having named, 
described, and illustrated from living examples, the 
principles of logic as applicable to argumentative 
speaking. And we believe that the knowledge of what is 
laid down in this chapter will prove of material as- 
sistance, not only in the business of public speaking, but 
in that of analyzing and judging of what is spoken by 


LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 215 


others. Our purpose does not extend to anything be- 
yond the title of the chapter, and is therefore confined 
to convincing, not persuasive oratory, and has naught to 
do with Rhetoric. As, however, Logic and Rhetoric are 
intimately connected, and 


“Thin partitions do their walls divide,” 


it seems proper enough to say somewhat upon the dis- 
position of discourse, and the order of arguments. It 
is not enough, says Montesquieu, to exhibit many things 
to the understanding; you must exhibit them in order. 

Rhetoricians reckon six parts of a discourse, viz., the 
exordium, proposition, narration, proof, refutation, pero- 
ration. Not that all these necessarily enter into it, but 
that they may do so. The first and last are, in general, 
reserved for uncommon occasions. In business speaking, 
debate, ete., a man rises, perhaps, with a paper in his 
hand, a resolution, or what not. He may begin by citing 
a remark just made by another speaker, ete., ete. He 
finishes more or less abruptly, so soon as he has brought 
out the statement of his facts, or opinion. Cicero says 
that one must join to the regular disposition, another 
sort which avoids the rigor of precepts and accommo- 
dates itself to circumstances, and that the art itself com- 
mands you to renounce, at times, the precepts of art in 
the order of your discourse. 

As to the choice of proofs. It is better to reject the 
light and feeble ones, and to insist upon those which are 
strong and convincing—present these latter distinctly, 
and to do so, separate them; but feebler ones should be 
treated in the oppoiste way, 2. e., bound together like the 
bundle of sticks in the fable. Here is an example from 
Quintilian. He supposes a man to be accused of killing 
another whose heir he had hoped to be, and he com- 


216 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR 


bines several circumstances to prove the accusation. 
‘“You hoped to receive an inheritance—a rich inherit- 
ance; you were in great indigence, and actually beset by 
your creditors. You had offended the man whose heir 
you expected to be, and you knew that he contemplated 
changing his will.”’ No one of these arguments alone, 
says Quintilian, has any great weight, but, taken to- 
gether, if they strike not like the lightning, yet like hail 
they come down with repeated blows. 

The order of proofs is of most importance. The nat- 
ural method, according to the subject treated, is to pre- 
serve such a succession as may, step by step, open the 
matter to the mind of the auditor, and link the parts so 
together that the chain of evidence and argumentation 
may arrest and envelop the mind which responds to 
truth and reason. Many Rhetoricians think that the best 
arrangement of arguments is that which begins with the 
more feeble and rises successively to the most cogent, so 
that the reasoning gathers strength as it advances— 
semper augeatur et crescat orator. This is an excellent 
disposition, undoubtedly, where the case admits of it. 
But in general, the best order is that which at the be- 
ginning projects some forcible arguments which may 
open the way to a favorable attention and conviction, re- 
serves some striking and decisive ones for the close, and 
disposes the less powerful proofs midway between the 
first and last. This is called by Quintilian the Homeric 
order, because such is the order of battle of which we 
read in Homer. Nestor, arraying his troops, puts in 
front the élite of the armed chariots, next the less re- 
liable body of soldiers, and last, in reserve, a brave and 
numerous infantry. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


In treating this branch of the art, we shall be as plain 
as possible. In the first place, as experiment is out of 
the question, we must endeavor to establish an under- 
standing with the reader by descriptions of the 
phenomena which will be referred to. 

The kind of voice adapted to the exercise and business 
of public speaking, is not the voice of ordinary con- 
versation. It is a larger utterance. The sound origi- 
nates deeper, possesses more swell, is longer drawn out, 
flies to a greater distance. 

It is not the singing voice. The difference between 
these two, every ear perceives and appreciates. 

Between the speaking and the singing voice is inter- 
posed the voice of recitative. 

The speaking voice, either developed or not, is pos- 
sessed by all men in different degrees, but not in a high 
degree by any who are unpracticed in its employment. 

Let the reader imagine himself calling to a person at 
the distance of seventy or eighty feet from him. Let 
him answer suddenly and earnestly, No! Let him ask 
the question, How? Let him give warning—FL.y! 
Fire! If he perform these experiments fairly and 
justly, he will not fail to employ in them his speaking 
voice. In doing this, certain observations will occur to 
him. He will perceive that the mouth and throat are 


more opened than in ordinary speech, and that he has 
217 


218 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


dwelt longer on the sounds: the chest will have been 
more exhausted of its air, and he will probably have 
found it needful as a preliminary to draw a quick in- 
spiration, before sending forth the sudden compact 
volume of sound. The part of the voice thus abruptly 
called into play will be the upper part of it. Especially 
is this the case if the vocal organs be untrained, for it 
is only a pretty well exercised human voice that can so 
exert and display itself on its lower notes. 

The first attainment of vocal power, is quantity—the 
ability to continue the sound, to elongate the utterance. 
The reader may consider that time in utterance, in other 
words extended quantity, is a condition of being heard. 
Sound traverses space at a certain definite rate, and syl- 
lables grow indistinct to the ear, from the effect of dis- 
tance, as objects do to the eye. Hence, in both cases, 
they must be enlarged in order to be well perceived. 
Syllables, rapidly enunciated, cannot be caught in their 
due proportions by the ear at a distance, as experiment 
easily demonstrates. We insist, therefore, rigorously 
upon this first quality and eminent distinction of the 
speaking voice—quantity—as directly related to both 
time and space. 

As a first exercise, for breaking in the voice to its 
function of public and expanded utterance, a table of 
vowel sounds is here furnished. The words adjoined are 
the sounds to be used in practice. 


asin March! Afar! 

as in Halt! Call! 

as in Hail! A sail! Awake! 
asin Cold! No. Unfold. Wo! 
as in Fire! Rise! Deny. 

oo asin Whoop! Do. Cool. 


woo 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 219 


ee asin Heed. Weep. Speed! 
oi asin Boy! Deploy. Noise. 
u asin Hew! Muse. Furies. 


There is no difficulty in separating the vowel sounds 
on the left out of the words on the right, above, but at 
the beginning it is better to practice the words, and to at- 
tach a meaning and infuse an intentional emphasis into 
them. Sound and sense should not be divided in speech. 
The learner may drawl the words, by way of occasional 
experiment, and in order to mark to his ear the signifi- 
cant properties of great, prolonged quantity. A voice 
quite unused to this sort of exertion can rarely perform 
it, at once, in a satisfactory manner. Some time and 
some repetition are necessary to give the instrument of 
vocality the requisite degree of expansion. The want of 
this expansion, and of the flexibility which attends it, is 
no doubt the cause, together with a hurried execution, 
of so many injured and, indeed, ruined voices among 
public speakers. I think Roger Ascham it is who as- 
serts that of all hnman functions that of the voice is the 
most improvable. And as to the influence of its judi- 
cious exercise upon the health, Dr. Rush attributes the 
comparative freedom of the Germans from pulmonary 
affections to their much use of the voice in vocal music. 
Let the practice of elocution, therefore, be moderate al- 
ways at first, and never forced, at any time. Ease and 
pleasantness is a pretty good criterion of correctness in 
the execution of exercises. Is the performance of any 
normal function unaccompanied with pleasure? 

Following the tenor of these injunctions, the learner 
will soon discover a growing improvement. Let him, 
then, fix his attention, if the opportunity offers, upon 
any public speaker, and the extreme probability is that 


220 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


he will observe something of this sort. The speaker’s 
voice, in the course of its flight, will exercise a manifest 
choice among the vowel sounds which are ranged in the 
foregoing table. This will be carried so far as, at times, 
to interfere with the due emphasis. 

The sounds of ee and oo are the most trying to the 
voice, those of @ (in far) and o (in bold) are in gen- 
eral the easiest. The former of these is that which the 
infant makes his débét upon. The cause of all this is 
an organic one, existing in the formation of the throat. 
There are comparatively few voices which can emphasize 
at will, and with equal indifference, all these long vowel 
sounds. 

It is worth while to examine a certain connection 
which subsists amongst the foregoing sounds. Ee and 
00, you will find, in prolonging them, are pure, unmixed 
vowels; they begin and terminate in the one sound. Not 
so with the others. The first two a’s (those in far and 
in ball) end on a faint sound of u—as in burr. All the 
rest vanish either in ee or in oo. Ee and oo are in ef- 
fect the media between vowel and consonant sounds. 
Ee is y and 00 is w, when they are abbreviated. He-ou 
and you, 0o-ave and wave, can the ear detect any real 
difference? The two difficult sounds, viz., ee and oo 
are the shibboleth of public speakers, few of whom do 
not, at times, throw a wrong emphasis, in order to let 
the voice light on some other vowel which it can play 
upon with better effect. I advise the young speaker to 
devote his continual attention to these two sounds, 
dwelling on them long, swelling them, forming sentences 
to practice out of words which embody them, ete. The 
purpose is not alone the obtaining of a control over these 
two themselves, but he will be certain to find that he 
has along with that acquired an expansion of the voice 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 221 


which will be perceived decidedly on all the other easier 
vowel sounds. 

The usual division of the pitch of the voice is into 
upper, middle and lower, and this will answer our pres- 
ent purpose. Everybody knows that usually, in asking 
a question, the voice runs from low to high, and in an- 
swering, it turns its course, running downward. Now 
exaggerate this phenomenon, in order to examine it well. 
One calls to another, at some distance, to learn what he 
wants, ‘‘The ball?’’ ‘‘No! the skate!’’ These con- 
trary movements of the voice, found universally, would 
here present themselves. The more intensified the in- 
quiry and reply, the further up and down would the 
voeal slide proceed. Elocutionists of very different 
schools (as Smart and Rush) recommend the practice 
of these slides. You take the vowels in the foregoing 
table, and beginning low down in pitch slowly and con- 
tinually glide upward to the vanishing point—a mewing 
sort of sound will result—reverse the direction of the 
voice, letting it descend as low as convenient. Apply 
the same movements to the words also. 

We must now form a second table of vowel sounds, 
which will consist of the short vowels of our tongue, as 
follows: 


1 as in ill, pit, wit. 

e as in let, dwell, men. 

o as in bog, hollow, not. 

a as in hag, lambent, clan. 
u as in hurl, cur, burden. 

i as in sir, mirth, hers, err. 
o as in book, push, full. 

u as in cut, flutter, cull. 


On these sounds the voice can glide readily up and 


222 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


down, as on the long ones, but in general it strikes them 
more rapidly, and emphasizes them with less quantity. 
An exercise on these vowel sounds similar to that pre- 
scribed for the former ones is recommended. And, let 
it be noticed that those others are susceptible of a brief, 
firm, stress, as well as these. That is, these can be pro- 
longed, and those contracted in their utterance. 

We must finish the exposition of the alphabet in re- 
gard to its spoken qualities, before furnishing some 
fuller examples for practice. The statement is an old 
one, and is still repeated in the elementary books—that 
a consonant cannot be sounded by itself. If it really 
could not be sounded alone, it certainly never could be 
in combination—for what would the combination be com- 
posed of? Let us try an experiment, on the child’s les- 
son in syllables. Says the young speller—a—b, ab. 
Now take away the a, and what can then be enunciated 
is the sound of 6. All—take the a from the syllable and 
the remnant of sound is 1, which you may continue as 
long as you please. The mistake arises from confound- 
ing the name with the power of the consonant. 

The reader will find not the least difficulty in enunciat- 
ing all the consonantal sounds separately. Now some 
of these can be prolonged, and some are, by nature, 
short. Those that can be prolonged are placed below, 
in the order of their capability of quantity. L, m,n,r 
(final), are those usually called liquids. They all take 
quantity. Z, zh, th, b, d, v, ng, g, j, also admit of pro- 
longation—the rest do not. The former should be run 
up and down, as in questioning and replying. Try J, for 
example. You will readily find that you could employ 
it as a syllable and ask a question, or give an answer 
upon it alone. Doing this, you have the ready key to 
the utterance of all the others. 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING —=§ 223 


Orthoépists agree in enforcing the principle that the 
consonants must never be prolonged—any of them—be- 
fore. a vowel in the same syllable. For instance, you 
may pronounce swe-ll—prolonging the l—but never 
l-ove or low, elongating the initial 1; it is a barbarism. 
To what use does the voice put this property in the con- 
sonants of admitting length of sound? A very simple 
and effective one indeed. The voice makes this property 
a means of adding to the great resource of quantity in 
syllables. It distributes a part of the sound over the 
consonant. 

Let the reader turn to the table of short vowels, take 
the first word, and ask a sudden and excited question 
on it, thus—ill? He will find that the sound, quitting 
the vowel, rises on the continued enunciation of the l. 
Hence the need of being able to prolong those of the 
consonant elements which admit of prolongation. The 
effect, as respects syllables, is to add to the number of 
long ones, in speech, varying thus the resources of quan- 
tity. We here complete that indispensable basis of the 
subject, the alphabet of speech. It is seen that there is 
a wide difference between the elements as spoken and 
spelled—for example meat and meet, sea and see, con- 
tain all the same spoken vowel, or vowel sound. 

We proceed to describe some exercises of the vocal 
organs which tend directly to fit them for the severe ex- 
ertion of public speaking. Several of these have not 
before appeared in print, but the learner may safely 
rely upon them, and trial will furnish a sufficient evi- 
dence of their utility. 

In all ordinary cases, what the voice requires is ez- 
pansion—a setting it free from the narrow modes of 
action of conversation and business. We do not now 
refer to depth proper, which relates to the scale, and is 


224 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


expressed by wp and down, high and low; but the mean- 
ing is, that whether the pitch be high or low, a fuller, 
broader sound—more volume—is, generally, the require- 
ment of the unexercised voice. Breadth is precisely the 
property we refer to as that which is usually wanting, 
and to its attainment the first efforts should be addressed. 
Were there space, we might explain how this quality of 
speech and utterance is connected with vocal function, 
but at present it suffices to describe it and indicate the 
modes of attaining it—the practitioner’s own observation 
and experience will carry him further afterward. 

Breath being the raw material out of which vocality 
is shaped, the first alteration of breathing into voice may 
be said to be the whisper, and that is the last form in 
which the human voice manifests itself—the sigh of 
death is utterance without articulation. Aspiration is 
the intermediary between resonant sound and breath- 
ing, and in that sort of passionate exertion in which 
voice is, as it were, choked by excess of feeling, it de- 
scends into whisper and aspiration. The letter h, as a 
sound, will thus be seen to be intimately connected with 
the radical functions of speech. Dr. Rush, in his Philos- 
ophy of the Voice, fully recognizes this fact. 

Let us invite notice to the common phenomenon of 
the sound an engine makes at a railway depot. The 
slowly-escaping steam sends forth an expiration not un- 
like the vocal quality of the letter h. If the reader put 
the aspirate h before each of the long vowels, and draw 
them out in a low, prolonged effort, in imitation of the 
sound just indicated, he will hit the idea we are trying 
to express. The sound meant is not a whisper, not 
husky, but it is round and full, a not unmusical mur- 
mur. The exercise may run from high to low, and the 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING = 225 


eontrary on all the vowels. Its effect is to mellow, 
deepen, soften and expand the tones of the voice. 

Listening again to the engine about to start away, the 
steam, dry and clear, bursts forth in a deafening vol- 
ume; it has found full voice, the muffled expiration is 
merged into pure resonant sound; the pitch is so high 
that it is shrill. Take, now, again, the long vowels, 
and putting h before each of them in turn, throw the 
voice into its upper keys, as far up the scale as is con- 
verient, and pronounce, somewhat forcibly, and with 
reasonable length, the syllables Hee, hoo, hay, hah, haw, 
ho, how, high, hew, hoi. This is a severe exercise. It 
will tire the muscles of the neck. Pause five or ten 
minutes when fatigued, and repeat the exercise on the 
middle of the voice. Finish by applying it with 
strength on the lower notes. Your ear will discover, 
very early, that the contracted, thin, inefficient quality 
of the utterance yields to this exercise. The kind of 
sound produced is true effective vocality, not dissimilar 
to that heard in the second instance, from the locomo- 
tive engine. 

There is a mode of exerting the voice in speech which, 
in importance, rivals that on which we have been dwell- 
ing. Quantity is distinguished by time; this other is 
marked by impulse. The former regards extension, and 
the latter concentration of vocal effort. The two are 
the great governing articles of speech, however speech 
may be employed. We now invite the reader’s atten- 
tion to the exposition of the second element, which may 
be called stress. 

Whenever the animal organism is about to make a 
strenuous momentary effort there is a preparatory move- 
ment. Be it to lift, to leap, to strike, the breath is drawn 


226 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


deeply and the orifice of breathing is shut, and from 
the chest so filled and enlarged the act originates, and 
without this preparative it is impossible. The same 
holds good in vocal effort, taking place when a sudden, 
violent outcry is to be made. All experience agrees in 
this fact, hence the philosophy of it may be here omitted. 

If the pupil will, then, draw a full breath—as if about 
to lift a heavy weight—shutting the epiglottis for one 
instant, and at the next impel with a decisive effort, 
any one of the long vowels—a(h) for example—he will 
have ‘‘exploded’’ the vowel. This needs not be done 
violently. A little practice will enable the ear to dis- 
eover that the sound is a pure and abstracted form of 
that which plays a conspicuous part in oral language. 
At first, the short vowels are the easier to manifest the 
quality of stress, but the practice should extend to all 
the vowel sounds, and, afterward, should include words. 
Judiciously performed, this exercise strengthens the 
voice, and renders it, in a high degree, audible—but the 
excess of it is not to be recommended—as it involves a 
certain harshness of character. In general, the ex- 
tended sound of the long vowels, together with the 
abrupt utterance of the short ones, in the wnaccented 
syllables, makes up the agreeable diversity of human 
speech. The learner is recommended to attain the 
power of leaning and continuing his voice with great de- 
liberateness on all the vowels, and likewise that of strik- 
ing them all with a prompt, free, and tripping utter- 
ance. These two lessons accomplished, and another, of 
varying the pitch, that is, going in turn easily into the 
different elevations of the voice, will be a good deal 
gained for the purposes of effective speaking or reading. 

As to the scale, a part of what we have already pre- 
scribed will assist in regard to it. An additional exer- 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING = _ 227 


cise is to select some lines, and beginning them in the 
lowest pitch gradually rise, in reading them, to the high- 
est, and inversely. Walker prescribes, for this purpose, 
the recitation of the terrible adjuration of Macbeth to 
the Witches, in Shakespeare. It is a great cause of 
monotony, that of not varying sufficiently the pitch. 
Slight variations even would relieve the sameness, both 
to the ear of the hearer and to the organs of the speaker. 
The power to speak long and with the exertion of force 
is largely dependent upon proper variety—in pitch, in 
time, rate of utterance, and modes of emphasis. Besides 
it is the natural way, and therefore easy and agreeable. 

We are now to speak of that important matter Em- 
phasis. To do this in a satisfactory manner, there must 
be some elementary points first inculeated. Many read- 
ers will be aware already that the force of the voice may 
fall, with diverse effects, upon different parts of the 
emphatic syllable. Dr. Rush has beautifully elucidated 
this topic, so obscure and indefined, before he wrote 
upon it. You may strike the first part of the syllable 
with a disproportionate force as in imperative emphasis, 
as ‘‘Go,’’ ‘‘Die,’’ ‘‘Come,’’ uttered passionately. 

The middle may receive the distinction by opening 
softly on the syllable, swelling the tone as it advances, 
and letting it fail, or faint away toward the close— 
‘‘Glorious.’? ‘‘Harmonious mysteries.”’ ‘‘To die.’’ 
““To sleep.’’ 

It may be the end of the syllables that the voice presses 
upon—as, ‘‘You, Prince of Wales?’’ ‘‘7 told you so?”’ 
It is a sort of jerk at the end. 

Many persons, in ordinary talking, indulge themselves 
in one or other of these forms of emphasis, to the neg- 
lect of the others, but all are constantly met with, and 
will be readily identified by an attentive observer. The 


228 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


first and second are more used in public utterance than 
the last; but he who is called to address bodies of men 
ought to accustom himself to putting any one of these 
forms on all the vowel sounds, and also on words chosen 
for the purpose. 

The foregoing are ways of rendering single words con- 
spicuous; but, generally, any marked alteration in the 
ordinary current of discourse bestows emphasis. A 
change from vocalizing to whispering is one very sig- 
nificant means of emphasizing; a sudden descent, or rise, 
in the scale is another. A change in force, in the rate 
of the utterance, a pause more or less prolonged, are 
all means of giving emphasis, that is, distinction to por- 
tions of discourse. These latter belong rather to clauses 
and sentences than to single words. For one example 
of a single way, let us suppose the passionate and in- 
sulting expression, You lie, is uttered. If the first word 
is spoken in a low key, and the second far up the scale, 
with the force on the first part of the vowel 2, and this 
latter afterward continued downward, the feeling which 
accompanies it will have been expressed. 

The subject of accent has employed and defied the in- 
genuity of scholars for ages. But this is because there 
exist no sufficient data to determine clearly the nature 
of the Greek and Latin accentuation. As respects a liv- 
ing tongue the case is quite otherwise. In our English, 
every word of more than one syllable has one of them 
distinguished by accent—that is, it has more of the force 
of the voice upon it. Now it is found that the voice 
cannot conveniently interpose between two accented 
syllables more than four wnaccented ones. In rude lan- 
guages, they cannot permit even so many. Ellis, in his 
Polynesian Researches, found that the natives regularly 
accented every other syllable. A similar fact is per- 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING = _ 229 


ceived among the American tribes. We pronounce the 
word Seminéle (in four syllables) with one accent, the 
people of that tribe call the name Séminolé. The name 
of one of their chiefs is pronounced by the whites, Hola- 
tdochee, by the Indians, Holatoochée. 

The organs cannot enunciate consecutively, without 
an hiatus, two accented syllables. This may be con- 
sidered an ultimate fact of human speech. Kéep—pace, 
for instance, with the accent on each word, must have 
an interval of pause between them; the article the can 
be put between them without the least addition to the 
time of the whole utterance. This accentual pause, ex- 
ercises an important influence over emphasis. It serves 
to confer time on that kind of emphatic syllables which 
is incapable of prolongation, and obtains in this way the 
advantage of quantity. To exemplify this interesting 
phenomenon— 


“Cut—short all intermission. 
Front—to front bring thou,” ete. 
SHAKESPEARE. 


That is, the time which cannot be expended upon 
the short syllables is apportioned to them in the form 
of pausing. I hope the intelligent reader sees what an 
unforceful blunder it is in a speaker to disregard this 
vocal principle, which, duly observed, assists the utter- 
ance, the breathing, the sense, and the ear of the audi- 
tor. Take, for a further example, the furious exclama- 
tion of Coriolanus, ‘‘Cut me to piéces!’’ Here the two 
unaccented syllables, ‘‘me to’’ fill up what before in 
‘‘Cut—short’’ was assigned to an accentual pause. The 
whole time of the two clauses is equal. 

From the former principle the next is at once derived. 
The voice passes lightly over the unaccented syllables, 


230 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


and skips, or steps, from accent to accent. Speech is 
thus reduced to measure. In the lines from Pope, which 
follow, the spaces separate the measures. 


“Why then, a Borgia, or a Catiline? 
Whé knows but Hé whose hand the Iightning forms, 
Who héaves 6ld cean, and who wings the  stérms?” 


An advantage from the practice of reading the vari- 
ous kinds of verse, is that the voice becomes habituated 
to observe measure duly. But prose likewise requires 
it, and ease and force of delivery imperatively demand 
a proper conformity to it. 

Emphasis always falls, by necessity, upon some ac- 
eented syllable. The effect of accent is to distinguish 
words one from another. They are known as separate 
words by means of the accent which ties together the 
several syllables. A proof of this may be seen by the 
experiment of misplacing the accents on a succession 
of words which compose a sentence. A jargon will re- 
sult, which, if intelligible at all, is so only by reason of 
the resemblance to what is previously known under true 
accentuation. What belongs to accent extends itself to 
emphasis. Without accent, words would not be distin- 
guished from one another; without emphasis, clauses 
would not be. The syllable accented distinguishes the 
word, the word emphasized gives meaning to the sen- 
tence. 

But emphasis demands yet more. It requires a pause 
after each subdivision into which it cuts discourse. The 
breathing asks for this, as well as the ear. The ear re- 
quires it because it can take in the word with its accent, 
without necessarily any pause, from knowing the word 
already, but the clause of emphasis it has to learn, and 
these must be separated and distinguished by interven- 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 231 


ing pauses, or the ear can not make the arrangement 
of the sense. We mean, then, in fine, that emphasis 
ties together words into detached groups, forming, as 
it were, a species of longer words; that pauses interpose 
between this longer sort of words, and hence, that pauses, 
that is, the principal ones, for the most part, depend 
on emphasis. Emphasis is the law and life of discourse. 
Better that all else go wrong than it. 

Trusting that the reader will not lightly pass over the 
principles now inculeated, we shall proceed to put down 
a number of illustrative examples of these emphasis- 
words—calling them thus in order to fix the idea: 


“But-with-the froward he-was-fierce-as-fire.” 


The italicized words are to the clauses of meaning 
what accent is to individual words. 


“Poured-through-the mellow horn her-pensive-soul 
In-hollow-murmurs died-away.” 


“Grace-was-in-all-her motions Heaven-in-her-eye. 
In-every-action dignity-and-love.” 


“Alevander-at-a-feast surrounded-by-flatterers heated-with- 
wine overcome-by-anger _led-by-a-concubine __is-a-forcible-ex- 
ample that-the-conqueror-of-kingdoms may-have-neglected-the- 
conquest-of himself.” 

“T-have-but-one-lamp  by-which-my-feet-are-guided and-that 
is-the-lamp-of-experience.” 

“Whence and what art-thou  execrable-shape?” 


“Tf-thou-dost-slander her and torture-me 
Never-pray-more abandon-all-remorse.” 


The foregoing must suffice for illustrations of the 
principles, which the reader can readily apply to any 
desirable extent. He will see that the thought governs 


232 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


the expression absolutely, and that the due interchange 
of sound and silence 7s intelligible speech. 

In essaying to speak to bodies of men, the first and 
chief thing is to hit rightly, with due quantity and 
stress, those commanding words in the discourse, to 
which the others annex themselves, and to which they 
are subordinated. On each of them send forth the voice 
in the manner described at the beginning—loudly, and 
even violently at first, if needful. And be persuaded 
that speaking and talking are not the same thing, what- 
ever may be said about a ‘‘natural’’ manner, and so 
forth. To impress masses of listeners, there must be 
something more strenuous than ordinary talk. Not thus 
did the Athenian ‘‘fulmine over Greece,’’ nor Tully— 
who calls the right arm the weapon of the orator—sway 
the Roman senate. 

The following short extract from Webster’s address 
on the centennial birthday of Washington we select to 
be spoken. The words where the vigor of the voice 
should be felt are marked. We advise that the learner 
quit the tone of conversation, and setting his utterance 
free from its trammels and bondage, urge it forth in 
broad, prolonged, emphatic speaking. Let him possess 
his mind with the determination of controlling an audi- 
ence, and carrying their full feelings along with him. 


‘‘But let us hope for BETTER things. Let us trust in 
that Gracious Berne who has hitherto held our country 
as in the HOLLOW of his HAND. Let us trust to the in- 
fluence of WaSHINGTON’s example. A hundred years 
hence, OTHER disciples of WASHINGTON will celebrate his 
birth with No LEss of sincere admiration than WE NOW 
commemorate it. When THEY shall meet, as WE NOW 
MEET, to do themselves and him THAT HONOR, SO SURELY 


THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 233 


as they shall see the BLUE summits of his native moun- 
tains RISE in the horizon, so SURELY may they SEE, as 
WE NOW SEE, the Fac of the Union FLOATING on the top 
of the CapiToL; and THEN, as Now, may the sun in his 
course visit No land more FREE, more HAPPY, more 
LOVELY, than THIS our OWN country.”’ 


So soon as the learner shall have caught the way of 
utterance’ which belongs to the extraordinary occasions 
of public speaking, so soon as he shall begin to be able 
to manifest it in single words and next on brief clauses, 
he will be able to advance to the complete attainment 
of the speaking voice. I think the acquisition is not 
much unlike learning to swim—it is something new at- 
tained, and once gotten is never lost. Of its value and 
popular appreciation, we need not. stop to say anything. 

In Gardiner’s Music of Nature, it is shown that a 
musical sound fies further than another kind of sound. 
He says that at a distance from Donnybrook, when the 
great fair was going forward, the notes of the violins 
came clear and distinct to the ear, while the duller 
noises and din that prevailed around them were lost, or 
reduced to a faint murmur. The same writer states 
that the connoisseurs did not seek the nearest seats when 
Paganini played in England, but preferred more re- 
tired places, where his exquisite instrument overrode 
the storm of the orchestra. This principle obtains in 
the superior audibility of trained voices, which is al- 
ways accompanied with an improved ease of delivery. 
The main ingredient of clear and resonant tone is a dis- 
charge of all huskiness or aspiration from it—except, 
of course, where these are expressly called for as an 
element of expression. The smaller the measure of 
breath put forth, the clearer and purer the tone, in gen- 


234 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING 


eral, produced. Because the more completely is the col- 
umn of air put into vibration, the less, too, the fatigue, 
necessarily. With practice, the power to vibrate fully 
a larger expiration is found to increase. 

The ability to make one’s voice travel far depends 
upon ringing it against the roof of the mouth—forcing, 
as it were, the breath to strike against the center of the 
archway which the roof forms. I have also remarked 
that speakers, when addressing audiences in the open 
air, have, not unfrequently, a tendency to curve the lips 
outward, trumpet-fashion, which, of course, projects the 
sound. These experiments may be made on all the 
vowels. 

We will close with an extract from an old work, on 
the power of music, which may interest the reader: 
‘‘In the year 1714, in an opera that was performed at 
Ancona, there was, in the beginning of the third act, a 
passage of recitative, unaccompanied by any other in- 
strument but the bass, which raised, both in the pro- 
fessors and in the rest of the audience, such and so great 
a commotion of mind, that we could not help staring at 
one another on account of the visible change of color 
that was caused in every one’s countenance. The ef- 
fect was not of the plaintive kind. JI remember well 
that the words expressed indignation; but of so harsh 
and chilling a nature that the mind was disordered by 
it. Thirteen times this drama was performed, and the 
same effect always followed, and that, too, universally; 
of which the remarkable previous silence of the audience 
to prepare themselves for the enjoyment of the effect 
was an undoubted sign.’’—Stillingfleet. 


THE END 













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